Lake Hope
by Cora709
Summary: On the last weekend of summer, Brittany convinces Santana to come camping with her. For both bad reasons and good, it's a trip neither of them will ever forget.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: Just want to say that this fic will probably be about 8-10 chapters long, and that the first half will be mostly set-up for the heavier stuff that happens in the last half. I'd love to get a feel for how many are actually interested in seeing the rest (it's taking forever to write), so please review if you can.**

**Also, I'm kind of new to the fandom and haven't had a chance to read much Brittana fic yet, so if I've done something here that's already been done, I do apologize and promise it wasn't intentional! ;)**

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><p>Chapter 1<p>

She stared at the phone where it lay innocently on her black bedspread. For what felt like the fiftieth time, Santana picked it up, scrolled through to Brittany's number, and let her finger hover over _send_. Then she turned it off, put it back on the bedspread, and stared at it some more.

Seven hours. That was how long she'd been home from Puerto Rico. After nearly three months of raucous Spanish-speaking relatives and tropical warmth and the smell of food cooking almost twenty-four hours a day, her house felt and sounded like a crypt. Her parents still weren't home from wherever the hell they were jet-setting to this week (they declined to accompany her on her enforced bi-annual trips to the homeland, sending her alone in an effort to "remind her where she came from." What it really reminded her of was what douchey hypocrites they both were.) Because the cleaning lady didn't come in until tomorrow, the silence was near-total. And it was starting to get to her. She'd taken a shower, tried to sleep and failed, watched too much reality TV, and picked up her phone every ten minutes or so before changing her mind and carefully putting it back down again.

Ever since she'd stepped off the plane, she'd felt an almost physical need to call Brittany. She'd even taken the phone out at the airport before deciding to wait until she was alone. Then when she was alone, she kept making other excuses, things she should get out of the way first. Until eventually there was nothing left to do, and for some reason, she still couldn't seem to call. _What the hell is wrong with me? _ They were best friends, it was practically instinct to call the minute she got home. They did it every year.

But this time was different. Everything was different now, and just the thought of Brittany's voice, even over the phone, caused her to feel something like butterflies in her stomach. And just the thought of that word, _butterflies_, made her pissed at herself. _Oh God, butterflies, seriously?_ This whole being in love business was super annoying.

When another episode of Real Housewives ended, she muted the TV and picked up the phone again. _Okay, this is ridiculous. Stop being a jackass and just call her_.

But before she even had the chance to lose her nerve again, the phone rang, startling the hell out of her. She dropped it on the bed. Feeling stupid, she picked it up with a thudding heart and glanced at the number. A relieved smile lit up her face.

"Hello?"

"Hey!" Brittany said brightly.

"Hey yourself." Santana couldn't keep the affection out of her voice, even if she'd wanted to. "I was just getting ready to call you."

"I thought you got home this morning. I was waiting all day. Then I thought I got Tuesday and Thursday mixed up again because they both start with T and it's just so confusing."

"I did get in this morning, but... I was sleeping," she lied.

"That's what I figured," Brittany said, probably seeing through the lie but choosing to let her get away with it all the same.

Santana closed her eyes for a second, grateful, trying to contain the ridiculous, embarrassing amount of devotion she felt toward this girl. Now, only now while hearing her voice, she felt like she was really home. After a brief silence to simply appreciate this, she continued the conversation in a casual tone. "Did you have fun at your grandparents'?"

"Totally. They're still convinced the world is ending in October, so we spent most of the time digging an underground shelter and stocking it with canned goods and prescription drugs. It was pretty amazing."

"Wow," was all Santana could think of to say to this.

"How was Puerto Rico?"

"Oh, you know," she said as she settled back against the pillows, kicking the remote out of the way. "Hot and loud. My relatives are all still insane. But nobody got murdered this year, so that was nice, I guess." She paused. "I got you something."

"Cool. I got you something too."

"From Cleveland?" Santana tried to keep the amusement out of her voice.

"Cleveland rocks," Brittany said, sounding mildly offended. "You don't know, you've never been there."

"You're right, I'm sorry." She smiled. "I can't wait to see what you got for me."

"Soo..." Brittany said, in a voice that indicated she was getting ready to change the subject. "I wanted to ask you something."

Feeling unaccountably nervous by this opening, though she had no idea why, Santana dragged her makeup case over toward her. Even though it was evening and she wasn't planning on going anywhere, it gave her something to do with her hands. "Okay."

"And just think about it, before you say no, all right?"

As if she could convince herself she was calm just by acting casual, she started rubbing in foundation with one hand. "Why are you being so weird?"

"I'm not being weird. I just really want you to say yes."

Blending the makeup around her hairline, Santana said in a tense voice, "Whatever it is, would you just ask it already?"

"Okay. So, this weekend is Labor Day."

"Yeah, and?"

"And... it's the annual Pierce Family Lake Hope Camping Trip Extravaganza." She added, "Copyright 1996. My dad always makes me say that last part."

Now Santana finally realized where this was going, and that there was no reason to be anxious. Wary and unenthusiastic, maybe, but not anxious. "Uh-huh," she said in a non-committal way, screwing the cap back on the foundation and reaching for the eyebrow pencil. Might as well finish her makeup now that she'd started. She could order a pizza or something and flirt with the delivery boy. It was always fun to watch them go back to the car using the carrying pouch to shield an erection.

"And I wanted you to come with me," Brittany went on. "So we can spend some time together before school starts." She seemed to be trying to sound as innocent and disarming as possible. Why did she have to make this so hard?

"That's so sweet," Santana told her. "And I wish I could go camping with you, but I can't this weekend. I'm sorry."

"Why not?"

Santana cast her eyes around the room, looking for something to help her out with an idea, some kind of excuse. On TV, a muted Tampax commercial was playing. "I've got my period."

On the other end of the line, there was a mysterious sound like papers rustling. Then, "No you don't."

"What? How do _you _know?"

"Because I have a special calendar for that."

"Brittany, that's just creepy. You don't even keep track of your own."

"That's because I like surprises." She continued, "But it wasn't my idea... the other girls in Glee club asked me to do it. They thought it would be safer for all of us if we knew when you were PMSing."

Santana rolled her eyes, not even knowing how to respond to this. Probably best not to respond at all. She thought she had a pretty good idea of who was behind _that _brilliant plan. "Okay, I made that up, you're right. Still not going though."

"But, Santana, this could be our last chance to do something like this before we graduate," Brittany pleaded. "It's like in The Goonies when they're in that wishing well, and they can either go up the bucket, or go down those awesome cave waterslides to the pirate ship."

Santana paused in her lip gloss application, making a confused face as she thought about this. "_What_?"

"Never mind. I've been watching a lot of movies this week, it's really hot outside."

"It's not that I don't want to spend time with you, okay? I do, more than anything. It's just...you know I hate that place, Brit," she whined. "Remember that time the raccoon chased me?"

There was a strange muffled sound on the other end of the line.

Santana listened for a second, then demanded, "Are you laughing?"

"No," came the guilty response. "I was just thinking about how unimpressed he was when you yelled at him in Spanish."

"And you told me that it was because raccoons don't speak Spanish."

"It's true, they don't. They speak Ojibwe."

Santana shook her head a little, but didn't pursue it. With Brittany, you had to pick your battles. "Whatever. But I'm not going."

"Fine," Brittany said, all casual resignation. "I didn't really think you would. Maybe I'll ask Tina instead." Silence. Then, as if she were dropping a delicately precisioned stealth bomb, "Or Quinn."

Santana immediately stopped applying mascara. She waited a beat. "Quinn's not gonna go camping with you. She hates that stuff as much as I do."

"No, she doesn't. Her family used to go every year on the Fourth of July, before her parents split up, remember? And when I talked to her last week she said she was bored out of her mind. I bet she'll go."

Santana was quiet, staring at herself in the mirror. She could feel Brittany waiting patiently. Very, very patiently.

Finally, she sighed as loud as she could, defeated. "Fine. All right? I'll go." She slammed her makeup case closed. "You win."

Brittany's self-satisfied smile was almost audible through the freaking phone line. "You don't have to."

"No, I want to. I want to go with you. Don't ask anybody else."

"Okay. Good."

"But I'm not swimming in that funky lake," she added.

"That's okay. You're a terrible swimmer... I don't want you to drown."

"And I'm not eating those _S'mores _things you always try to get me to eat. Do you have any idea how hard it is to get marshmallow out of extensions?"

"That's fine," Brittany said, as if now that she'd gotten her way she could afford to be magnanimous. "More for me."

There was a horrible angry-sounding yowl in the background.

"What the hell was that?" Santana asked, disturbed.

"I have to go, it's time for Lord Tubbington's yoga." Brittany switched to a low voice, as if hoping not to be overheard. "He is in _such _a mood this week. I think he's still jetlagged from Cleveland."

"But Cleveland's in the same..." she stopped herself. "Forget it."

"I'm so glad you're coming with me. We're gonna have so much fun, I promise. I'll see you tomorrow, okay? We'll pick you up at seven... be ready!" And then she quickly hung up, before Santana could protest. Which she almost certainly would have, because... did she just say _seven_, as in seven o'clock _in the morning_?

Feeling petulant and like she'd just had her strings pulled by an expert puppet master, she switched her phone off and tossed it into a chair near her bed, shaking her head over what she'd just agreed to. Out loud, she said, "Being in love _sucks_."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

_Ding-dong._

Santana groped her way along the upstairs hall, stubbing her toe on an expensively hideous knick-knack table that her mom insisted on keeping because someone had told her the Hiltons had one just like it. She knocked over some kind of vase and didn't bother to right it.

_Ding-dong._

"I hear you, Brit!" she shouted. Gripping the ornate banister, her eyes still bleary with sleep, she edged down the stairs carefully. The marble was frigid on her bare feet. "Holy freaking hell, that's cold."

The doorbell rang again. "I said I'm coming!"

She reached the door and swung it open as the bell rang one more time. Brittany pulled her hand back, guiltily. "Sorry. I just really like pushing the button."

Santana shaded her eyes against the unnatural morning sunlight, ready to complain about the lunacy of being dragged out of bed this early on the last weekend of summer, but then her vision finally adjusted, and she found she couldn't say anything at all. Brittany was backlit by the glow of dawn like in some cheesy romantic movie. She was already wearing her swimsuit, with a pair of shorts and a loose tank top over it, and her hair hung in two Pocahontas-like braids. On top of it all was a baseball cap that had, for no discernible reason, a picture of a zebra on it. The entire ensemble was like Brittany distilled down to her essence. She looked tanned and healthy and relaxed and gorgeous and _Breathe, Santana._

"Hey," she said, trying to sound less awkward than she felt. How could she have forgotten that seeing her would be different than talking on the phone? She wished she'd had a chance to brush her teeth. "So you really meant seven o'clock, huh?"

"_Santana_," Brittany said with mild disapproval, noticing her pajamas and mussed hair. "I told you to be ready."

She shrugged. "I forgot to set my alarm."

The truth was, she had no idea how to set her alarm. Mildred the cleaning lady usually did it for her during the school year. When she was younger, Santana would often find notes in her lunch box signed "Mama," but she knew they weren't from her mom because they were written in Mildred's heavily accented German English. "You are good girl! Much kisses!" As she'd gotten older, she'd learned that the woman's pity could be played to her advantage. But Brit didn't need to know that.

Brittany looked like she wanted to be annoyed, but couldn't quite manage it. They stared at each other for a second, smiling a little with anticipation, and then moved closer to hug. But before they could connect, something barreled into Santana's lower body with a force that almost knocked her over. She staggered and looked down to see a small blonde head with braids identical to Brittany's. A pair of tiny arms were latched around her waist.

"Hey, kid," she said in a resigned way, lifting the braids up and out to the side, then dropping them. "Long time no see."

"Ariel, I told you to wait in the car!"

"Mom said I could come in." The voice was muffled against Santana's stomach. Then the girl leaned her head back and looked straight up, but still without releasing her grip. "How come you never come over anymore?"

Santana didn't know what to say. The fact that Brittany's little sister _liked _her always took her by surprise, even though it had been this way since the girl could talk. In general, she hated kids. They smelled funny and they lacked sarcasm receptors and they had no fashion sense whatsoever. But for some reason, this one had grown on her over the years. Maybe because she was identical to Brittany at the same age. Or maybe because no matter how shitty she treated her, Ariel never seemed to be fazed by it. She was like a devoted puppy.

"I've been gone all summer," she answered lamely.

"No, not _summer_," the girl said, unwilling to be deflected. "Before that. When that stupid wheelchair boy was always coming over."

"I thought you liked him," Brittany said, looking hurt.

"Not really," Ariel said, still gazing up at Santana, ignoring her sister. "Sometimes when he wasn't looking I put stuff in his food."

Santana laughed, unable to help herself. "I've taught you well."

Now Brittany pulled her by the arm, detaching her from Santana. "Okay, you said hi, now go away." She took off her hat and stuck it on her little sister's head, as if to say no hard feelings, and then pushed her toward the door.

"We'll talk later," Santana called after her. "I want details!"

She watched Ariel skip back toward the Pierces' van, then noticed that Brittany's parents seemed to be unloading the entire contents of the vehicle onto the sidewalk in front of her house. Duffel bags, boxes of cooking utensils, coolers, fishing equipment...

"Brittany," she said, confused. "What are they doing? We're not camping _here_, are we? Because that stuff will be stolen within half an hour."

She came to the door to look. "I accidentally packed the road atlas underneath everything else. I thought it was a book written in some kind of weird language, but it turns out those are maps." She gave a tiny ironic smirk after she said it, which anyone who didn't know her well enough probably wouldn't have noticed.

Santana turned to her with a smile, a sudden upwelling of love threatening to embarrass the hell out of her. "I really missed you," she said quietly.

Brittany's face turned serious, and Santana was gratified to see that she looked slightly overcome too, like she might even be near tears. "I really missed you too."

And now they were able to hug without interruption. Santana stood on her toes and gripped Brittany tightly around the neck, closing her eyes and breathing in the familiar, comforting scent of her coconut shampoo. Her entire body lit up like a flame, but underneath the newness of this sensation was the same bedrock warmth and love and solace that had always been there. She could feel all of it at once, and it was both intoxicating and peaceful. She breathed Brittany in, not wanting to let go, and dropped a tiny, almost imperceptible kiss just beneath her right ear. She couldn't help it. Finally, she forced herself to step back.

Brittany kept her hands around Santana's shoulders for a few lingering seconds, seeming to share the reluctance to part. Then she bit her lip and looked down, dropping her arms.

"Found it!" came a jubilant shout from the front yard.

They both looked toward the door, coming out of their spell.

"Go get dressed!" Brittany said, turning back to her, as if she'd just remembered the camping trip.

"Okay," Santana said, with a complete lack of enthusiasm. "I brought my bags down last night." She gestured to them on the floor. "So see? I was _kind of _ready." She headed upstairs, glancing back down one more time, because it never hurt to look at Brittany from another angle, and from here she could see the part in her hair and the fact that it was adorably crooked. She could also see pretty clearly down the front of her tank top, but she tore her gaze away and continued up. _Focus_.

Getting dressed and taming her hair as fast as she reasonably could, she took one last mournful look at her bed, wishing she could climb back into it. With Brittany. And they could both just stay here for the entire long weekend, in the air conditioning, and no one would have to wear bug spray or cook food on sticks. But it was a futile hope, she knew. The Pierces lived for this kind of shit.

Back downstairs, Brittany looked her up and down with exasperated affection, and then shook her head a little.

"What?" she asked innocently. "I'm wearing a bathing suit and a tank top, same as you."

"Those _shoes_, Santana."

She followed Brit's gaze down to her feet, decked out in knee-high deerskin boots with a fringe of fur at the top and razor thin six-inch heels.

"These shoes make my ass look amazing."

Brittany continued to stare at her, crossing her arms over her chest, waiting. Santana stared back, in wordless dispute. After a few more seconds of this, she sighed heavily, turned around, and clacked back up the stairs, muttering to herself in Spanish.

She returned a few minutes later wearing a pair of slightly more reasonable wedge-heeled sandals. Sneakers would have been more appropriate, but she had to retain a _little _bit of her dignity.

Brittany was sitting on the foyer floor, digging through one of Santana's previously-packed overnight bags.

"What the hell are you doing?" she demanded.

"There's like eleven more pairs of shoes in here!"

"I have a problem, okay?" She shrugged and leaned back against the newel post. If Brittany wanted to undo all her hard work, she wasn't going to help her out. "The first step is admitting it."

Brittany held up a pair of elaborate platform clogs with gold spangled straps, a suspicious look on her face. "Aren't these Mercedes'?"

"She gave 'em to me," Santana said evasively, not making eye contact.

Unconvinced, but not bothering to press the issue, Brittany laid them in the discard pile. "You don't need to take all these. There's not gonna be anyone there to impress, other than me." She gave Santana a pointed look. "Lindsey's not going."

"I know that." She pretended to adjust the drawstring on the front of her shorts, asking casually, "Have you heard from her lately?"

Her fascination with Brittany's older sister stretched back into childhood, when Lindsey Pierce had been the epitome of blonde, sophisticated high school glamour. Like one of the Sweet Valley twins, only not as gay. Unfortunately, despite her best efforts, Santana had never managed to put herself on the older girl's radar. She knew she was seen as nothing more than Brittany's loudmouth little friend, best avoided if possible. It was maddening.

"She's still with the Peace Corps in Kenya. I don't think they've invented phones there yet... or something. But we got a letter about a month ago. She said to tell you hi."

"Really?" Santana's voice betrayed her.

Brittany gave her a mischievous smirk. "No. Not really."

Santana reached over and shoved her with her foot, while Brittany grinned without the least sign of apology. But at the same time she was thinking, _If Brits and I get married some day, Lindsey will have to acknowledge me. We'll be, like, family, or whatever. She'll have to see this hotness all the damn time. And then she'll get a crush on me and I'll be like "Back the hell up, sweets, you should have come knocking on this door ten years ago,' and she'll be all..._

"She's engaged, you know," Brittany said, interrupting her fantasy. "To a guy."

"Yeah, I know, you've told me like a hundred times."

"Okay, I think we're actually ready now." Brittany zipped up the bag, which by this point hardly contained anything, and raised her hand toward Santana. She gripped it and pulled her up.

They both looked down at the jumbled pile of expensive designer shoes now littering the floor of the entranceway.

"My parents are gonna come home and think I was kidnapped by some kind of fetishist."

"Do you want to leave them a note?" Brittany asked, concerned. "Or clues, like a scavenger hunt?"

"No, it's fine, let the dickheads worry," Santana said, with studied indifference. She grabbed her other overnight bag and slung it over her shoulder, heading toward the door. "They probably won't even notice I'm gone."

Brittany gave her a sad look, but didn't say anything else.

Santana entered in the security code for the alarm system and then closed the door behind them, checking to make sure it had locked properly. Not for the first time, she mentally cursed her father for choosing to build his McMansion smack in the middle of the worst part of town. He said it was because he wanted to stay close to his roots, but she knew it was really because he wanted to rub it in everyone's faces.

Everything looked secure. She pocketed the key, and before she even turned around, a delighted male voice sang out from the street, "There's my little jalapeña pepper!"

She took a deep breath, bracing herself, and then turned around with the closest thing she could manage to an excited smile. "Hi Mr. Pierce."

Brittany's dad came up the walkway, taking her bag from her and pulling her into a brief headlock-style hug, just enough to disarrange her hair completely. You couldn't be mad at the guy, though. He was one of those perpetually earnest, hopelessly dorky middle-aged men who never quite leave their twelve-year-old selves behind. He gave off not even the slightest sexual vibe at all, and at this point in her life, Santana could appreciate that more than ever. With a mop of curly, light-brown hair and thick glasses that magnified his eyes, he looked like exactly what he was - a kooky scientist who still retained his boyhood curiosity and enthusiasm for the world.

"Got a joke for you girls," he said, with a hand on each of their shoulders as he led them to the van. "A tech support guy gets a call from a lady, and she's outraged. She says, 'The cup holder on my computer broke! All I did was put a mug of coffee in it and it broke, I demand a new one!' So the tech support guy says, 'I don't remember us selling a model that has a cup holder, can you describe it to me?" Here he paused on reaching the van to stash one of Santana's bags with the rest of the luggage, and turned to them, clearly anticipating their reactions. "And so the rabbi says, 'That's not how we do circumcisions where I come from!" He waited, hopeful.

The two of them continued to stare at him, Brittany gazing admiringly, Santana with a perplexed look.

"Gerald, honey, I don't think you're telling that joke right!" his wife called distractedly from the front of the van, where she was re-securing a rope that held the canoe on top.

"What's that?" he asked, looking up.

"I said I think that punch line goes to a _different _joke. You've got to start opening the windows in the basement when you're working with those chemicals."

"Huh." He squinted down at the ground as if trying to figure out where he'd gone wrong.

"I still thought it was funny, Dad," Brittany said.

"You did?"

"Definitely."

Santana nodded her support, not trusting herself to say anything. She wondered if these were the same chemicals he'd been working with last year, when he'd squandered close to a million dollars in grant money trying to prove some elusive and eccentric theory about global warming that she couldn't even begin to remember the details of. The entire Pierce family was convinced he was a misunderstood genius who would eventually be appreciated by the scientific world. Santana had her doubts, but in a way, she hoped they were right. At the very least maybe he would finally start earning some money and they wouldn't have to live off his wife's wages as a part-time instructor of New Age-y courses like Orgasmic Childbirth and Human Waste Composting.

Though she would probably keep teaching anyway, Santana reflected, because both of them had that progressive saving-the-world complex that she'd never been able to comprehend. They were the kind of flakey free spirits, for example, who let their children name each other. Which was why, thanks to Lindsey, Brittany was named after Alvin the Chipmunk's girlfriend. And then Brittany in her turn had been allowed to christen the new baby, which explained Ariel. Santana privately maintained that they'd been lucky her favorite movie at the time was The Little Mermaid. The year before, it had been Lady and the Tramp, so they'd just barely escaped having their youngest daughter named after a cocker spaniel.

"Good morning, sweetheart," Brittany's mom said, tying one last knot and coming down from the top of the van. "We're so glad you're coming with us."

"Thanks, Mrs..." she stopped herself. "Bunny," she corrected. And here was her core problem in addressing Brittany's mother. The unfortunate woman's name was Bunny, and she insisted that everyone call her that. But to Santana, it still felt unnatural to refer to a grown-up who wasn't a family member by their first name. And so she always began with Mrs., remembered too late, and then switched to Bunny. Which meant that she was constantly calling Brittany's mom Mrs. Bunny. Which sounded like a freaking cartoon character.

But when it came to the woman herself, she had to admit she was pretty amazing. Blonde and occasionally daffy like her middle daughter, Bunny radiated a warmth that extended to just about everyone she interacted with, even those who didn't really deserve it, a category Santana knew she herself probably fit into. She was pretty much the perfect mom, and Brittany accepted this state of affairs as natural and inevitable, which of course she had the right to. Only rarely did Santana let it bother her, the way she seemed to take her parents for granted. Because after all, if anyone deserved them, it was Brittany. And definitely not her.

"Brittany, honey, have you seen my sunglasses?" Bunny now asked her daughter.

"The ones you're wearing?"

She brought her hand up to her face. "Oh! I thought it was just cloudy out here." Removing the glasses, she looked around and exclaimed, "Oh, it's _nice _today! I'm so glad." Smiling, she patted Santana on the shoulder and went to climb into the van.

The two girls exchanged a look, and Brittany shrugged, as if to say, _Parents_.

They managed to cram her second bag into the storage area behind the back seat, then the two of them got into the van, which was actually a _van _van, and not a mini-van, and was retro as hell in Santana's opinion. Even though the inside had been fitted out for the typical nuclear family, with two middle seats and a back seat that stretched the width of the interior, it was much more roomy and spacious than a modern SUV or mini-van. And it smelled like the seventies.

Santana was surprised to see that Ariel wasn't the only one in the vehicle. Sitting next to her in the other middle seat was a little girl with dark brown hair and brown eyes, looking for all the world like a tiny Rachel Berry, only much better dressed. _God help me_, she thought. _If that's her little sister I will bail at the first gas station._

She settled into the back seat on the right side, Brittany plopping down next to her and immediately putting her feet up on Ariel's seat back. The dark haired girl turned around and stared at Santana, looking her up and down appraisingly.

"Are you black?" she asked after a few seconds.

Santana made an _Um, what_? face and glanced around the interior, then back at the kid. "No," she said slowly. "Are you Jewish?"

"Yes."

"Well, then, looks like I win." She simpered with faux charm, just enough for her dimples to show. "Thanks for playing."

The kid continued to stare at her from the middle seat, all dark saucer-like eyes and judgment.

Santana looked at Brittany, trying to keep her voice low enough so that her parents wouldn't hear. "Who the hell is this?"

"It's Ariel's friend from Brownie camp," Brittany said in a wary monotone. "She scares me. Her name's Bianca."

"It sounds like Beyoncé," Bianca supplied helpfully.

"Hmm... no it doesn't," Santana said.

"Bee. On. Cuh," the girl elaborated, pronouncing each syllable separately and loudly, her precocious dangly earrings shimmering with attitude. "Bee. On. Say."

Santana narrowed her eyes, pretending to think about this. "Nope, still don't hear it."

Bianca glared at her, and she suddenly knew she'd made an enemy for life. She smiled inwardly. _Oh, it's on, midget_. So okay, maybe an eight-year-old wasn't the ideal candidate to vent her camping trip frustrations on, but it was better than nothing.

"Your last name isn't Berry, by any chance, is it?"

"No. It's Grossman."

Santana smiled. "_Fantastic_."

Confused and irritable, the little girl turned around as Brittany's parents climbed into the front seats, her dad adjusting his mirror and calling out, "Okay gang, who's ready for the Pierce Family Lake Hope Camping Trip Extravaganza Copyright 1996!"

"Woo!" Brittany hollered, pumping her fist in the air.

_Aspirin_, Santana suddenly remembered. _That's what I forgot to pack. And liquor._

Gerald started the van and began to pull away from the curb. Then there was a loud backfiring noise and the engine shut off. Nobody said anything. Brittany lowered her fist, cautiously.

"I hope nobody stole the spark plugs while we weren't looking," Bunny said in a quiet voice to her husband. "This _is _Lima Heights Adjacent."

Santana rolled her eyes. But yeah, that was a good point. They should probably check.

"Just be a second," Gerald said, stepping out and lifting the hood. Santana allowed herself to hope that maybe, just maybe, they wouldn't be able to go after all. Could she really be that lucky?

Ariel looked so horrifically anxious, though, that it was hard to hold onto this wish, even for a hardcore bitch like herself. The poor kid was _literally _biting her knuckles. "_Mooommm_..." she said against her hand.

"It'll be fine!" Bunny assured her.

Gerald climbed back in. "Looks all right to me. Let's try this again, why don't we?"

He started the van and waited a few seconds, then pulled away from the curb, slower than last time. Everyone seemed to be holding their breath, most of them hoping for the engine to keep running smoothly, Santana hoping for it to cut out again. This time, though, everything seemed okay. Brittany gave another whoop, echoed by her mom and sister. Bianca looked at them as if they were members of an interesting tribe she was studying for anthropological fieldwork. Santana tried to resign herself to the fact that there was no backing out now. She was going to be in this vehicle with all these people for the next three hours, at least.

But her disappointment evaporated when she looked over at Brittany, who was actually doing a little _dance _in her seat. Santana laughed, unable to help herself. _Why, WHY does she have to be so cute?_

They headed out of the subdivision and crossed through the rest of town, most of which still seemed to be asleep this early on the Friday before the long weekend. By 7:30, they were out of Lima and on their way.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

There was something lumpy under her pillow. Santana shifted her head a little bit, not wanting to come up out of her sleep, but it was still there. She opened her eyes and saw, to her confusion, not her soothingly black bedroom wall, but the vintage shag upholstery on the back of the van seat in front of her. The vehicle was parked, and there didn't seem to be anyone else in it. She raised her head up, suddenly remembering where she was, and found Brittany's face just inches away.

"Hi," Brittany told her, smiling a little. Now Santana realized the lump she'd been sleeping on was her shoulder.

"_Brit_," Santana remonstrated, squinting as she got her bearings. "Why didn't you wake me up?"

"I didn't want to," she said simply. "It felt nice."

"I'm just not used to getting up at the butt crack of dawn," she said in explanation. She raised her hand to the corner of her mouth, embarrassed, noticing the wet spot on Brittany's shoulder. "God, I _drooled _on you."

"I don't care," she said, unfazed. "It's not the first time."

"It's _not_?"

But she didn't elaborate, so Santana glanced around the empty van and asked, "Where is everyone?"

"They went to get breakfast. Do you want to go in?"

She peered out the window and realized they were at a McDonald's, just off the interstate. "No, I'm good."

"Me too."

Now Brittany raised her hand to Santana's face, looking a little amused. "You're all wrinkled. Like a really cute elephant."

She raised her own hand up and felt a deep crease across her left cheek, and laughed a little. "It's from your shirt." Then, because Brittany's hand was still lingering there, she took it in her own and pressed it, tracing lightly around the lines of her palm with her fingertips.

They gazed at each other, smiles fading a bit, both seeming to realize at the same time how long it had been. The van was already warm with the air conditioning shut off, but suddenly it felt about ten degrees warmer.

She knew Brittany's rules were still in place, the ones that were supposed to give her an incentive to come out of the closet by denying her nooky until she worked up the courage. But making out didn't really count, did it? Everybody made out. A person could go insane if they never got their mack on at all, and that could be dangerous for innocent bystanders. Just look at Ms. Pillsbury. Certifiably cuckoo.

She glanced toward the restaurant again, wondering how long they'd all been in there, and if there might possibly be time for a little...

But Brittany seemed to have other ideas, because all of a sudden she sprang up onto her knees. "Wait here," she said as she turned around and leaned her upper body over the back of the seat, digging through some luggage near the bottom of the storage area.

Santana watched, bemused, as Brit's ass began to slip further over the edge. "What are you doing?"

"Can you pull me back up?" she called.

Gripping her around the waist, she tugged her gently backwards until her center of gravity was restored. Brittany turned around and slid down into the seat, her tank top riding up to reveal her bare midriff. To Santana's disappointment, she distractedly yanked it back down.

"Here," she said, handing her a package wrapped in bright purple and green paper. "It's what I got you in Cleveland."

"Oh right," she said, remembering that they hadn't exchanged their gifts yet. "Yours is in my purse." She leaned over and dug through her oversize handbag, fishing out a small brown paper sack. She passed it to Brittany, saying apologetically, "Sorry it's not wrapped. I couldn't find any paper."

Brittany smiled. "You don't know _how _to wrap presents, Santana."

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, that too." It was so hard to lie to someone who knew everything about you. She looked down at the gift in her lap, which was so pretty she almost didn't want to open it. "You first," she told Brittany.

"Okay." She pulled the bag open and dumped the contents into her lap, gasping in delight. Lifting up the funky shell necklace into the sun, she examined the delicately varied turquoise beads and dark red bamboo bone accents. "It's gorgeous," she breathed. "It's so me."

"Yeah, that's what I thought when I saw it." Santana smiled. "These tribal people make 'em, they sell them right on the beach. At first I thought it was just touristy crap, but this woman tried to put a curse on me one day, so I figured she was the real deal." She touched the etching on the middle bead, the one that would hang right over Brittany's heart, and said in a slightly awkward way, "This is a Taíno symbol." She hesitated. "It means _love_."

Wordlessly, Brittany handed her the necklace and lifted up her braids. Santana leaned forward and fastened it for her, blowing very softly on the delicate hair at the base of her skull, presumably because she didn't want it to get caught in the clasp but really because she wanted to see the chills that rose up on her neck as a result. "There."

Brittany looked down at it and fingered the middle bead, obviously touched. "It's perfect. I love it."

"Oh, and before I forget," Santana said, lifting the smaller piece of jewelry from where it still lay in Brittany's lap. "This is technically a bracelet, but I thought... maybe it would fit your cat." She shrugged a little. "I mean, I know he doesn't like me, but..."

"It's not that he doesn't like you. It's just that he knows your parents are Republicans, and he's going through such a political phase right now."

Santana bit the inside of her cheek to hold her laughter in check. "Well, give it to him anyway. And tell him, for what it's worth, I probably would have voted for Obama."

"I will," Brittany said, nodding. She glanced down at the package resting on Santana's knees. "Your turn."

She pulled the paper off, trying not to rip it, since it looked like it had been wrapped with such care. It was upside down, and she turned it over to reveal a framed photograph. She stared down at it and swallowed hard, feeling ridiculous, but momentarily unable to speak.

"It's an antique," Brittany said, referring to the frame. "I got it at a real antique store and everything, all by myself, like a grownup. The guy said it's from, like, the Middle Ages, or Middle Earth... or something." She trailed off, waiting.

The frame actually appeared to be no older than the 1950s; it was black and vintage-looking. But it was the photograph in the frame that Santana couldn't tear her gaze from, and which was making her throat close up in a way that she found absurd.

In the picture, she and Brittany were about eight years old, the same age Ariel and her friend were now, as a matter of fact. They both wore white dresses, facing each other in front of a rose bush in Brittany's back yard. Santana clutched a handful of flowers to her chest, and they grinned at each other, oblivious to the camera's presence.

"I remember this," she said quietly. "We were playing wedding."

Brittany nodded, seeming happy and a little surprised that Santana recalled the details. "You tried to make me be the boy because you wanted to hold the flowers. I thought we should just both be girls, but you said we couldn't because girls can't marry each other."

"And you said..." Santana stopped and smiled, thinking of the exact words. "You said let's just pretend that they can."

They looked at each other, moved by the recollection and by the sudden realization of just how long they'd been on this path. Santana looked back down at her lap again. "It's beautiful, Brit. The frame, and everything."

"You can put a different picture in it if you want to."

"Why would I want to do that?"

"Because you said one time that you hated old pictures, and keepsakes, and sappy stuff like that. You said only people with extreme narcolepsy kept crap like that around."

Santana smiled a little. "I think it was narcissism."

"Oh."

"But when I said that..." she stopped, not knowing how to express what she really wanted to say. _When I said that I was a different person. When I said that I'd never been in love. When I said that I didn't know you would do things to my heart that I didn't even think were possible. _"I didn't mean us," she finally said. "I didn't mean pictures of us."

Brittany looked satisfied by this, and Santana stared at her lips and then took a deep breath, wanting more than anything in the world to kiss her. She had just about made up her mind to do it when the van door swung open. Covertly, she ducked her head and brushed away a tear, praying that no one would notice.

The two younger girls climbed back in, a high-pitched argument already in progress.

"No, it's not! An Egg McMuffin is not kosher, Ariel. You don't even know what that means."

"I thought it meant things that goats eat. And goats eat everything," Ariel said, buckling her seat belt. Bianca didn't bother to reply. She seemed to have already learned the cardinal rule that there was no use arguing with a Pierce about the definitions of words.

Santana looked at Brittany one more time, mouthing _Thank you_. Brittany's expression clearly said _You're welcome_. They didn't even need to speak aloud. She put the photograph in her purse before anyone could notice and ask to look at it.

Bunny leaned in the back door with a styrofoam cup. "I got you a coffee and a pie, sweetheart."

"Really?" Santana said with bewilderment, reaching out to take them. It always surprised her when someone did something for her without being manipulated into it. "That's so nice."

"And a Happy Meal for Brittany."

"_Yesss_," Brittany said, taking the box from her mom and immediately searching for the toy inside.

Santana took a sip from the coffee, closing her eyes in gratitude for the strong, bitter taste. She liked it black. Then she noticed Bianca hanging over the back of her seat like a monkey, staring at her. At some point in the last hour the girl had acquired a floppy hat, and seemed to be wearing _lipstick_. Even when Gerald pulled the van back out onto the exit ramp, she stayed where she was, facing backward.

"What's wrong with you?" she asked Santana, with the air of a psychiatrist prepared to take extensive notes.

"_Nothing_," Santana said, wondering if her mascara had run. She looked at the kid pointedly, willing her to turn around. "Oh, and Blossom called, she wants her hat back."

"Who's that?"

Santana rolled her eyes. This was why it was impossible to banter with children.

"You were talking in your sleep," Bianca now told her.

"I highly doubt that. See, this is what happens when you don't get your pork-based protein. Your mind starts playing tricks on you."

"What's scissoring?" she asked, all innocence.

"What?" Santana shot a glance at Brittany, alarmed. Thankfully, her parents were absorbed in flipping through radio stations in the front and were paying no attention to the girls.

"You said it in your sleep." Bianca continued to stare at her, as if she knew she had the upper hand now.

Brittany was fiddling with her plastic robot, and now spoke in a calm and untroubled voice. "It's when you draw pictures on construction paper and cut them out, with scissors. Like hearts and rainbows and stuff." She looked up at Bianca, gauging whether she'd bought it.

"I do that _all _the time," Ariel said. "Remember?" she asked her friend. "We just scissored yesterday."

Brittany nodded, satisfied with the cover-up.

Santana was still freaking out a little. "Ariel, it's kind of a secret word, though," she said in the lowest voice she could manage. "For _secret _art projects. So... don't repeat that to anyone else. Okay?"

"Okay," she said blithely, dragging her straw around the bottom of her milkshake to get the last of it out.

The other little girl continued to stare at Santana over the back of her seat, suspicious. Holy hell, this kid was annoying. "You might want to sit down now," she told her.

She still didn't move.

"Turn _around_," Santana said loudly, leaning forward and making an exaggerated circular gesture with her index finger. "Before Auntie Tana decides to see if these child safety locks are just for show."

Finally looking intimidated, much to her satisfaction, Bianca faced forward.

Santana leaned back in the seat and glanced at Brittany, who also looked grateful. If someone managed to get on Brittany's nerves, you _knew _they were obnoxious beyond belief.

* * *

><p>The next few hours of traveling passed relatively quickly, to Santana's immense relief. First she listened in amusement while Brittany and her sister played what they called "the license plate game."<p>

"There's another one from Ohio!" Ariel exclaimed.

"Woo!" Brittany whooped, giving her a high five over the back of the seat.

"How many now, Mom?"

Bunny called from the front, "That makes 12!"

After a few more minutes of this, Santana felt compelled to say, "Brittany, I think you're supposed to count the license plates from the _other _states. Isn't that how the game works?"

Brittany looked at her like she was crazy. "But that would take forever."

"There's another Ohio!" Ariel shouted at the top of her lungs. "That's 16!"

Santana exchanged a glance with her mortal foe Bianca, who shrugged. They were in the Pierces' world now. The only thing to do was join in. Turning to look out the rear glass, Santana offered, "The semi behind us has Ohio plates."

"Awesome," Brittany said, smiling at her. "You're so good at this."

And as ridiculous as it was, the compliment actually felt nice.

Then, when they'd counted to one hundred Ohio license plates and everyone felt the game had reached its natural conclusion, Gerald discovered a radio station that seemed to play nothing but power ballads and rock anthems from the late seventies and early eighties, and they belted out verses to cheesy songs like Come Sail Away by Styx and Jefferson Starship's Nothing's Gonna Stop Us Now. Santana was a little embarrassed to reveal that she knew all the words, but then again, so did Brittany, so it didn't seem to matter.

"How come you can't sing as good as she can?" Ariel asked her older sister after the two of them had done a particularly over the top rendition of Somewhere Out There.

"Shut up," Brittany said.

"I wish I could dance as good as Brittany," Santana told her.

Ariel thought about this for a second. "Nah, I'd rather have a good voice."

Brit kicked the back of her seat, hard. "_Brittany_!" her mother called warningly from the front.

After a few hours of driving, the landscape began to change in a noticeable way. They were leaving behind the obvious aspects of the Midwest and entering what looked very close to the South, capital S. As they left the interstate and headed into the country, the land began to dip and roll, and the greenery closed in around them as fields turned into woods, and then heavy forests. In addition to the physical terrain, the human element also transitioned into something not entirely familiar. Clapboard houses peeked out of partially obscured valleys, and they passed by rustic general stores and through covered wooden bridges.

In a way, this extreme southern part of the state resembled its close neighbors Kentucky and West Virginia more than the rest of Ohio. And that, to Santana, had always been one of the reasons she was reluctant to come on the trip. It wasn't just the unrelenting outdoorsy-ness of it all, though she had plenty of issues with that, obviously. It was the fact that in all the times she'd been here, she'd never once seen anybody with skin as dark as hers. It was the way people looked at her as if she'd just swum across the Rio Grande in order to steal their kickass jobs at the local Wal-Mart.

And this time, more than ever before, it was the church signs. The sanctimonious, offensive, irritatingly smug messages on every single church message board they passed. After the first few, she stopped reading them. She didn't want to see something that hit too close to home, something that would sour this trip before it even began. For Brittany's sake, she wanted to try to have a good time. For just a few days, she wanted to leave behind all her emotional baggage from these past six months and feel like a normal person again. So every time they neared another church, and there was one every mile or so, she resolutely looked away.

* * *

><p>At an old-fashioned gas station a few miles from the park, they stopped to get last minute supplies. Santana volunteered to fill up the tank while everyone else went inside to use the bathrooms and buy more food. She needed a break from their noise and their overbearing enthusiasm. Leaning against the side of the van, she took a deep breath and realized she could already smell the damn lake. But to her surprise, the memories that the scent called up from her unconscious weren't all bad ones. Maybe she'd had more fun here than she'd thought, raccoons notwithstanding.<p>

Brittany was the first one back out of the store, clutching an armful of pop cans and a sack of ice. She pulled the rear doors open and began shoving bags out of the way, trying to get to the cooler without dropping anything. Santana wanted to help, but there was no lever lock on the gas nozzle and so she couldn't leave it in place. She watched, amazed as always by Brittany's physical grace, the way she could make anything seem easy. Even when she held a bag of potato chips with her teeth, it looked like part of a dance.

But then Santana noticed she wasn't the only one watching. The man at the ostentatious SUV behind them, one of those guys who wore a gold chain and so much cologne she could smell it from fifteen feet away, had just finished filling up his own tank. Now he was pretending to dust off his windshield while openly leering at Brittany. Santana raised her sunglasses up to make sure she wasn't just imagining it and traced his line of sight directly to Brit's ass. Oh yeah, he was definitely leering. And now, without seeming to notice her at all, he approached the back of the van and said, "Let me help you out there, hon."

Brittany, who never knew a stranger, turned her head a little and said, "Cool, thanks," as he pried the lid off the ice chest for her. But then she froze uncomfortably as he rested one hand on the small of her back even while he leaned forward and casually arranged pop cans with the other one.

Santana's face registered shock of the _Are you fucking kidding me? _variety. She glanced around the parking lot to see if anyone shared her outrage, but there didn't seem to be another soul on the premises. The place was deserted.

Now Brittany caught her eye and, seeing the look on her face, gave a slight warning shake of her head which couldn't have been clearer if she'd spoken aloud. _Do not go all Lima Heights, Santana. Whatever you're thinking about doing, don't do it. _

But she wasn't _thinking _about anything at all, because now the douchebag's hand was creeping lower. What was she supposed to do, stand here and let this Jersey Shore reject feel Brittany up right in front of her? So she did what she felt anybody would do in the same situation. She yanked the nozzle out of the tank and sent an arc of gasoline streaming across his pressed khaki trousers.

"Jesus!" the guy cried, jumping back and staring down at his pants in horror. "What the hell is wrong with you?" He looked at her as if wondering where'd she'd come from, even though she'd been standing here the entire time.

"Oh, shit!" she exclaimed, in an exaggeratedly innocent voice. "I'm so sorry! I've never done this before." Turning the nozzle back in the other direction, she pushed the lever again and sprayed another jet across his shoes. "Is it supposed to keep coming out like that?"

Enraged, but clearly trying not to show it, he leaned across her and punched the button to turn the gas off, giving her a clear parting shot at his crotch. "Whoops," she said, delighted. The gas slowed to a trickle and then stopped.

Jerking the nozzle out of her hands as if afraid she would turn it back on again, he replaced it in the slot so hard the clang echoed around the parking lot.

"Well, you have just been _super _helpful, to both of us," Santana said, not even bothering to hide her sarcastic smile. "And they say strangers don't look out for each other anymore."

Still without saying anything, the man yanked a handful of paper towels from the outdoor dispenser, gritting his teeth and apparently trying his hardest not to erupt. With his face red and a vein pulsing in his beefy neck, he swiped ineffectually at himself before giving up and striding back to his SUV, cursing under his breath. She noticed his license plates were from Massachusetts, which for some reason amused her. Must have thought the local girls would be easier to pick up. And they weren't even technically local.

Santana called after him, "I hope those weren't new pants! They looked damn fine on you too." He shot her a glare that said he'd like nothing more than to put his hands around her neck and squeeze, but was too much of a gentleman to do so.

Cocking her head to the side, she gave him her most charming smirk and waggled her fingers goodbye as he slammed his car door and reversed so fast the tires squealed.

Brittany was shaking her head over the top of the cooler, mortified, but at the same time trying not to laugh. She didn't look up as the SUV peeled out of the lot.

Circling around behind her and looking immensely pleased with herself, Santana gave her a very discreet pat on the ass and took the bag of ice to help out.

"That was bad, Santana," Brittany muttered with affectionate disapproval. "Really, really bad."

She shrugged. "He'll live. As long as he doesn't try to light a cigarette. At that point, it's out of my hands."

Brittany bit her lip, giving up the pretense of judgment. "You're so hot when you're evil."

"I know, right?"

They smiled at each other and felt something like electricity coursing between them, but then Brittany's dad came back out of the store and they were forced to look away. It felt like turning off a current. For the first time Santana found herself looking forward to being in a tent. With the window flaps closed and the door zipped up tightly. Screw Brittany's rules. She had to get _something _out of this trip.

"Uh-oh!" Mr. Pierce said with concern as he reached them, noticing the puddles of gasoline on the pavement. "Did we have a little accident?"

* * *

><p>Finally, when it was approaching noon, they reached the gates of the state park and began rolling slowly down dirt tracks, searching for the campsite. Ariel stood between her parents' seats, practically jumping up and down, searching for a first glimpse of the water.<p>

"Is that it?" Gerald kept teasing her. "I think I see it."

"Where?"

"No, maybe not."

"_Dad_!"

Brittany was leaning forward eagerly, too, still infected by the excitement of the tradition. Santana saw her mother glance back at her and smile a little sadly, as if realizing this would probably be the last year. Lindsey was already gone. Next time maybe they would be down to one daughter. Santana looked out the window, knowing that she wasn't really part of it.

They passed other campsites, other family groups. She saw a pickup truck with a Confederate flag in the back window, and shook her head. Then another car with a bumper sticker reading "Protect Marriage." _Protect it from what_? she wondered. But she knew. Of course she knew.

And now she was getting that uneasy feeling, the one she'd tried to avoid by not looking at the church signs earlier. The one that told her she was right to refuse Brittany's offer the first time, and she shouldn't have caved. Her Lima Heights high from the gas station encounter had already faded, feeling like something that happened a week ago. That guy hadn't been from around here, anyway. He most certainly wasn't the camping type.

_Don't be such a drama queen, _she told herself sternly as she saw yet another bumper sticker lamenting the contagion of gay. _This shit is everywhere_. But she couldn't help it. It made her feel sick. It made her want to hit someone. It made her wish she really had razorblades in her hair.

"There it is! I see it, I see it!" Ariel shouted, pointing out the window to the left. Through gaps in the heavily forested bank, the lake glinted in the bright sun.

Brittany reached over and shook Santana's leg excitedly. "We're here! Aren't you glad you came with me?"

She took a deep breath, forcing herself to smile. "Of course I am."


	4. Chapter 4

**First off, I just want to say thank you so, so much to everyone who's reviewed. It means a lot to me. Nobody in my real life has any idea I'm doing this, so your encouragement is so very much appreciated.**

**Also, it looks like this is still on track for being 8 chapters long, with the last four in particular being the most important ones, IMO. I realize I took my sweet time getting there, but I love the little moments as much as the big ones.**

**Thank you so much for reading!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 4<strong>

_(Home video footage begins, first blurry and then gradually in focus. Brittany sits in a canvas lawn chair in front of thick woods.)_

_Brittany: Hi. I'm Brittany S. Pierce, and welcome to my special back to school edition of Fondue for Two, filmed on location from the 2011 Pierce Family Lake Hope Camping Trip Extravaganza, Copyright 1996. Let me start off by saying that the only cheese I have with me today is these Kraft singles, and from past experience I can tell you that they're not really good for dipping things in. But... they're still pretty awesome, and I'm probably gonna eat a bunch of 'em later. For now, though, why don't I... take you on a little tour?_

_(cut to Brittany standing next to the water, gesturing out at it)_

_Brittany: This is the lake. It's called Lake Hope. And coincidentally, this park is called Lake Hope State Park. (appears to be in deep thought) I just now got that._

_(cut to a small dark-haired girl standing next to Brittany with hands on hips, looking impatient)_

_Brittany: (unenthusiastic) This is Bianca Grossman. She's my little sister's friend._

_Bianca: (waits for a few seconds in silence) Do you want me to say anything?_

_Brittany: Not really. You can go now._

_Bianca: This show is stupid._

_(cut to Brittany petting a white Labrador retriever)_

_Brittany: This is someone's dog, I don't know whose... but it keeps following me. Let's see if he'll fetch a stick. (throws a stick far out into the lake. The dog sits and stares at it, panting. Brittany looks at the dog, then at the camera, then back at the dog.) You're gonna make me go get that myself, aren't you? (She sighs.) I think you planned this all along. (She strips down to her swimsuit and wades out into the water)_

_(cut to Mr. and Mrs. Pierce setting up a tent)_

_Brittany: These are my parents, Gerald and Bunny. Say hi._

_Gerald: Hey, Britster! You want me to tell a joke for your show?_

_Brittany: Um... thanks Dad, but I only have a few minutes of tape left._

_Gerald: (goes back to putting in tent pegs) Okay, your loss. _

_(Brittany looks into the camera and shakes her head slightly)_

_Bunny: (going through luggage, turns to Brittany) Sweetie, did you remember to pack enough underwear? I don't want you wearing that damp bathing suit for three days like you did last year, you'll get a rash again._

_Brittany: Mom!_

_(cut to Brittany, now in front of the van, looking embarrassed) _

_Brittany: We may edit that last part out. In hindsight, interviewing my parents was probably a bad idea._

_(camera begins to wobble, go out of focus)_

_Brittany: Hold it up!_

_Disembodied Voice: I can't, my hand hurts!_

_Brittany: Give it to me, then._

_(frame flips around, Ariel comes into focus)_

_Brittany: This is my little sister Ariel. You may remember her from the recurring segment called Ariel Get Out of My Room._

_Ariel: Can I go now?_

_Brittany: Fine. But you're only getting half of the Milk Duds I owe you, because this was shoddy work._

_(From somewhere off screen comes a female voice wailing "God, my hair!" Camera focuses on Brittany's feet as she walks around the van, then her hand as she pulls the door open. Santana is sitting inside, looking into a handheld mirror in horror.)_

_Brittany: Oh, look who it is, my best friend in the entire world Santana Lopez._

_Santana: It's like this lake is cursed, Brittany! I get within a hundred feet of it, and this happens. (indicating hair) Every time._

_Brittany: (after a few seconds) It's not that bad. It looks... natural._

_Santana: Natural! The only way this is natural is if I'm working on a sugar cane plantation in Jamaica! (looks in mirror again, whines) I don't understand. Half of this hair isn't even mine!_

_Brittany: So, would you like to tell the students of McKinley how you spent your summer vacation?_

_Santana: (rolls eyes) No. Not really._

_Brittany: Okay, then... is there anything else you'd like to say? (waits) Any other... announcements you'd like to make? (camera zooms in on Santana's face)_

_Santana: (appears to think, finishes putting her hair in ponytail) Oh you know what, there is one thing I'd like to say to McKinley. (smirks and raises her middle finger to the camera)_

_Brittany: (heavy sigh) Santana._

_Santana: (shrugs, says innocently) I'm just tryin' to represent._

_(picture goes out of focus again, screen goes black)_

* * *

><p>Brittany lowered the camera, annoyed. "I can't use that."<p>

"Yeah, that was kind of the point." Then Santana seemed a little chastened, remembering that this was the second episode of the cheese show she'd ruined. "Look, why don't you put that thing away, and we can go down to the water."

"But you said you didn't want to swim."

"I don't. But we can still sunbathe, and make canoes crash into each other with our hotness." She peered outside, looking up at the trees as if expecting something to come swooping down at her. "I'm afraid if I don't make myself leave this van now, I won't do it at all. It's like the last link to civilization."

"Okay," Brittany smiled at her. "Let me just go grab some towels."

"Don't forget the sun screen," Santana called after her. "I wants to get my grope on."

On the way down to the water, they passed Ariel and Bianca, sitting on a cooler and eating sandwiches that appeared to be mostly mustard, judging by the amount on their faces and shirts.

Bianca looked up at Santana with amusement. "What happened to your hair? It's like it exploded."

Santana pointed her finger malevolently at the girl as she passed by, as if to say _Just wait_, but otherwise didn't respond.

They started down the path to the lake, and Santana immediately tripped over a root and grabbed Brittany's arm to keep from falling.

"If you'd worn better shoes..."

"I don't want to hear it." She tried to walk more carefully as she looked around at the heavy woods, still a dark, lush green, even this late in the summer. Everything smelled damp and earthy. "So I see this place hasn't changed much."

"It's a state park, it's not supposed to change," Brittany said. "That's the point."

"Still, this would be some kickass real estate if they cut down all these trees."

"Santana, that's a horrible thing to say." She looked at as her as if she'd just kicked a puppy.

"I'm just messing with you!" She nudged her arm, trying to get her to smile. Then in a resigned way, she added, "You're gonna make me join Greenpeace or the Sierra Club some day, aren't you? Some organization that sends you pictures of clobbered baby seals every three weeks with an envelope for money."

"I'm pretty sure lesbians have to do that anyway," Brittany said, in her patented deadpan manner. "It's in the handbook."

Santana laughed. How could anybody think this girl was stupid when she could come up with things like that?

They reached the bottom of the slope and the woods opened up onto a small beach area. Brittany chose a rocky ledge to spread their towels on, and they sat down, looking out at the water. The lake was a deep blue color in the sun, sweeping away into numerous coves and inlets, a shape impossible to define. The thick greenery came right down to the water's edge in all directions, rising up into bluffs and cliffs higher up.

"Even _you _have to admit that it's pretty."

"It's all right," Santana agreed grudgingly. "I just wish someone would build a hotel here."

In fact, she'd noticed on the way into the park this year that there were not only campsites with electric hookups available, but cottages with full power, running water, and kitchens. So why the hell were they pitching tents in a clearing and cooking over a fire? Was it a matter of money? She'd hand over her dad's credit card right now if she didn't think there was a chance it would deeply offend Brittany's parents. And considering they were some of the few people who actually seemed to like her, genuinely _like _her, she didn't want to take the risk. What if they finally realized what a terrible person she was and they turned against her too?

They pulled off their outer clothing to reveal their bathing suits. Santana noted that while hers was solid black, Brittany's was bright and rainbow-patterned. _And that about sums it up_, she thought wryly.

Brittany held the bottle of sun screen up, raising her eyebrows.

"I'll do you first," Santana said.

She smirked, lifting her hair off of her back. "Typical."

Santana gave her a pointed smile. "Mm-hm, that's _right_." She took the bottle and squeezed a generous portion into her hand, looking at the expanse of bare flesh and trying to decide where to begin. She felt like a starving person presented with a buffet.

"Brit, did you already get in the water?" she asked, suddenly noticing the damp swimsuit.

"A dog made me fetch a stick. I don't want to talk about it."

Santana nodded a little, as if to say _of course it did_, and decided to start on the lower back and work her way up.

She made light circles with her fingertips, rubbing the lotion in, grazing along the top of Brittany's bikini bottoms. It took extreme willpower not to just grab them and pull them off. The fact that she resisted made her feel like she was growing as a person. Then slowly, very slowly, she moved on to her upper back, but not before sliding her fingers briefly underneath the strap of her top. It felt so wonderful just to be touching her this way, finally, after so long.

She continued on to her shoulders, noticing that Brittany had her eyes closed and seemed to be deeply relaxed. Deciding that she was maybe a little _too _relaxed, Santana let her hands gradually move lower and lower, over the slope of her shoulders, down past her collar bone, until she was grazing the tops of her breasts, lightly rubbing sun screen over the ample portion of skin that wasn't covered by the bikini. To her satisfaction, she felt Brit tense up a bit, her pulse quickening. Santana smiled to herself. _That's more like it._

After another minute or so of this, Brittany said in a soft warning tone, without opening her eyes, "_Santana_."

"What? I just don't want you to get burned there." She let her fingers slide down into the hollow between her breasts, and now Brittany put her hand over Santana's and glanced up at her with a meaningful look. For a second Santana wondered whether she was going to move her hand, or perhaps just _assist _her a little, but suddenly her erotic concentration was shattered by a loud male "Woo!" and then a wolf whistle coming from out on the lake.

She pulled her hand back as if she'd been bitten, looking up to see a canoe about fifty yards off. They'd been so absorbed they hadn't noticed it drifting in. Two men were watching them and grinning, far enough away so that they had to yell to be heard.

"Hey ladies! You don't got to stop on our account!"

"That's right," agreed the other one. "Hell, you can make out if you want, we ain't gonna mind!"

Santana rolled her eyes and sat back on her own towel, knowing her fun was over for now. She sighed. "You know, the terrible thing is, last year we probably would have."

Brittany smiled a little, but then said in a serious tone, "I don't ever want to do that again."

"_Make out_?" Santana asked, alarmed.

"I mean, for boys." She paused. "I don't want to do it like that."

"Oh," Santana said, more relieved than she wanted to show. "Of course not. Neither do I."

They looked back out at their audience again. The fat one raised a beer in salute. The other one was mildly attractive, but not really, like Matthew McConaughey's inbred cousin. Eventually the two of them began fishing off the other side of the canoe, and seemed to lose interest in the girls.

"You want me to do you now?" Brittany asked.

Santana looked at the canoe again, desperately wanting to say yes, but feeling too weird about it. Everything was so different now that there were all these emotions, all this fear involved. She missed the simplicity of the way it used to be. But at the same time she wouldn't go back to it... not for anything in the world.

"Don't worry about it. I hardly ever burn."

"Sometimes you do," Brittany said, and from the tone of her voice, Santana could tell she really wanted to do this. That settled it.

She smiled a little. "Okay." Stretching out on her stomach, she rested her head on her arms, facing away from the water. Brittany began in the same place she had earlier, with the lower back. But she found that for herself, relaxing was not an option. She tried, she really did, but it was a lost cause. With her eyes closed, she could feel each tiny touch, each barest whisper of contact, every sensation magnified a thousand fold. And it didn't help that Brittany's hands were as graceful and flexible as the rest of her. _Holy sweet hell, the things this girl can do with her fingers_, Santana thought.

She tried not to breathe as Brittany spread the lotion around her upper back and shoulders. The scent of Coppertone should have reminded her of childhood summers, but she didn't feel much like a child right now. Even though they were in the sun, she could tell the warm flush spreading through her body was from an entirely different source. And when it began to concentrate in one particular spot, she knew it was time to quit. "Okay, Brit," she said, suddenly sitting up. "That's enough. Or you're gonna have to throw my ass in the water to get me off of you."

She looked sheepish. "Sorry."

"Yeah, well, rules are rules." Santana glanced at her after she said this to see if maybe, just maybe, those particular rules would be relaxed for this weekend without her having to try to seduce her into it. But from the expression on Brittany's face, it didn't look like it.

"I'm doing it for you, you know," she said. "Because I know how much happier you'll be. When you're not hiding anymore."

Santana stared down at the water. _Oh, Brittany,_ she thought, plaintive. _You don't know that. You don't know that at all. God I wish it were that simple. _But it was a conversation she didn't want to have right now. Almost to her relief, the men in the canoe chose this moment to provide another distraction.

"Hey, you girls want to come fishin' with us, down at the south end? We got room for two more!" the chubby guy hollered. "I ain't picky, but my buddy here likes dark meat."

"Shut the fuck up!" the skinny guy said, splashing him with his paddle.

"_Classy_," Santana muttered. In a louder voice, she yelled, "It kinda looks like you're at full capacity there, Ricky Bobby, so I think we're gonna have to take a rain check!"

It was true, the canoe was sunk up to the waterline on the side where the heavier guy sat.

"Too much beer!" he called in apparent explanation. "Here, let me lighten the load a little." With that, he rose awkwardly to his knees, almost tipping the entire thing over, and started peeing over the side.

"Gross," Brittany said.

"It's times like these when I can't believe I ever thought I was straight," Santana said, making a disgusted face. "See, this is what happens when you camp one county away from West Virginia. It's like Deliverance down here. There _are _parks closer to Lima, you know."

"My parents love this one. They used to come here when they were growing up, it's where they met." She looked over at Santana, as if she'd just thought of something. "And you know what else? My mom told me yesterday that I was conceived here."

"Really? That's so sweet." Santana smiled in spite of herself, looking around at the woods and lake. It all suddenly looked much less forbidding to her. _Oh jeez, I'm becoming such a sap._

Brittany seemed confused, though. "Wait, what does it mean?"

"It means she got _pregnant _with you here, silly."

"Oh." She thought about this for a second. "I thought it meant she hid me here, like under a bush or something. Because someone was trying to steal me?"

Santana looked perplexed, mentally working her way through the strange and imaginative labyrinths of Brittany's mind to figure this one out. It was a little like doing a crossword puzzle. _Sounds like conceived, means the same thing as hidden_... Then she had it. "That's _concealed_."

Brittany's face registered comprehension. "Too bad. Because it sounded pretty cool." Disappointed, she added, "I guess no one wanted to steal me after all."

"Aww," Santana said, rubbing her back consolingly. "I'm sure someone did."

The men in the canoe finally began paddling away, still leering for all they were worth. The skinny one hollered, "You ladies behave yourselves, now! We'll see you around!"

_I hope not_, Santana thought. She watched with distaste as they drifted out of view. _I really hope not._

* * *

><p>The rest of the afternoon passed slowly. They were put on unofficial babysitting duty, making sure the younger girls didn't drown while they played in the water. Santana didn't bother to pay much attention. She reasoned that since she wasn't much of a swimmer anyway, she wouldn't be a lot of help in the event of an emergency. They would probably end up drowning <em>her<em>.

After that, Brittany somehow signed them up for firewood gathering, and in the course of picking up sticks, they uncovered a small garter snake that Santana immediately retreated from in terror. Brittany, however, seemed to want to try to catch it.

"What are you doing!"

"I want to put it in a basket and see if it'll dance, like on Aladdin."

Braving her fear, Santana returned and grabbed her arm. "No, Brittany."

"But..."

"NO."

She looked back regretfully at the snake as Santana dragged her away.

Then, back at the campsite, they were forced to sit down for a special ceremony where Gerald unveiled the official 2011 poop stick, a branch about three feet long that was whittled at the end for easy digging.

"Oh, God," Santana moaned, lowering her head into her hands. "I forgot about the stick."

"What is it?" Bianca asked, looking nervous.

"That's right, we've got a first-timer along this year!" Gerald said. Enthusiastic, he explained that the poop stick was for digging a hole to "do your business in," then for covering it back up. Bianca was speechless with horror. For once, Santana felt for the kid.

"Gerald," Mrs. Pierce said, overhearing. "We're actually within walking distance of a latrine this year, so we won't need that. It's just right down the path," she said, gesturing over to the woods.

"A _latrine_!" he lamented, as if she'd just told him there was a full service day spa nearby. "What kind of fun is that?" Nobody answered. "Well, I'm still gonna use the stick. Who's with me?"

"Me!" Ariel exclaimed, raising her hand. She was the only one.

Then, as afternoon began to turn into evening, the two of them helped Mrs. Pierce prepare dinner. Or rather, Brittany helped, Santana stood around swatting at bugs, keeping a wary eye out for raccoons. At one point Bunny tossed her a manual can opener and asked her to open some beans. Santana stared at the strange contraption in her hands, unfolding it, turning it one way and then the other, mystified. Without a word, Brittany approached, took it from her and showed her how to use it, then gave her a quick, secret peck on the cheek as if to tell her that her ineptitude for normal everyday life was adorable.

Somehow, without Santana at all comprehending how she'd been roped into it, she and Brit were given the responsibility of molding the raw hamburger into meat patties. They stood at a portable table a little removed from the campfire and barbecue grill, looking down toward the lake.

"_Ughhh_," Santana groaned, gingerly shaping the ground beef with just the tips of her fingers. "This is hella rank, Brittany. I can't even believe I'm touching it. Aren't there machines for this or something?"

She smiled a little. "I don't think so."

"Well, someone should invent one. Maybe that's what your dad should do, instead of that global warming crap no one cares about."

Brittany wisely refrained from comment. All her energies seemed to be focused on taking up and remaking every single patty that Santana accomplished, molding it into something that resembled an actual hamburger. Santana didn't seem to notice. She wasn't even looking at the meat, but instead gazing through the gaps in the trees down to the water, where Ariel and Bianca were splashing around in the shallows. Sulking, she wondered why _they _didn't have to help.

"Oh, looky here," she said after a minute, sounding amused. "Someone's got themselves some gentlemen callers."

Down at the lake, a pair of eleven or twelve-year-old boys had drifted over on inner tubes and seemed to be chatting with the two younger girls. Suddenly, Bianca attempted to turn a show-offy cartwheel in the ankle-deep water, splashing one of the boys in the face.

Santana laughed, shaking her head. "_No game_." She turned to Brittany. "Watch this."

She stepped around the table and moved a little way down the slope. "Hey Grossman! We were just finishing up the unpacking... did you want us to put your rubber bed-wetting sheets _in _the tent, or should we let 'em air out for a while first? 'Cause to be honest? They looks a little skeevy to me."

"What are you talking about?" Bianca demanded, mortified.

But as predicted, the boys had already begun to drift discreetly away, back out into the deep water.

"Ooh, _strike out_," Santana said with exaggerated sympathy. "Hey, maybe next time, tell 'em how your name sounds like Beyoncé. Boys _love _that."

Ariel had her hands up over her mouth, trying to contain an attack of giggles. Bianca turned to her with fury. "Why are you laughing, stupid?"

Santana returned to the table, looking pleased with herself.

"That was mean," Brittany told her.

"Oh come on, that kid is awful. Has anyone checked her skull for the Devil's mark?" She went back to forming horribly misshapen hamburgers. "Besides, those boys were much too old for them. What are they doing flirting anyway, they're second-graders."

"We were flirting with older boys when we were that age."

"Yeah, well, maybe we shouldn't have been." She reflected, privately, that maybe she shouldn't have lost her virginity at age twelve to their sixteen-year-old pool boy, either. But there was no use dwelling on it now. And anyway, it didn't really count, the way she looked at it. When she and Brittany were fourteen and first realized there was much more they could do together than fix each other's hair, _that _was her first time. The real one, the one that counted. Everything else was just a pale imitation, the difference between authentic Gucci and some sweatshop knockoff from a grungy flea market.

"We only flirted with boys because we were copying Lindsey and her friends," Brittany said, picking out a leaf that Santana had kneaded into the hamburger meat without noticing.

"Exactly. And they tortured us. So... now it's our turn."

"I guess. It's just that Ariel likes her a lot," she said, gazing down at her sister a little wistfully. "I don't want to ruin it for her. It's her first friend that isn't imaginary." She paused, considering. "Although I have to admit I'm really gonna miss Cowboy Todd. I'm pretty sure he had a crush on me. Sometimes he let me wear his hat."

Santana stared down at the girls, contemplative. They were out of the water now and had apparently made up, in that rapid-fire way little kids are capable of, because the two of them were walking along the edge of the lake squeezed under one giant beach towel, picking up rocks. "Okay, I guess they're _sorta _cute together," she admitted in a grudging way. She watched them for a few more seconds. "I just hope they don't end up like us."

"Why not?" Brittany asked, defensive. "What's wrong with us?"

"Nothing," she hastily corrected. "I just meant... I hope they stay friends. Without things getting _complicated_."

Brittany was quiet for a minute, putting the rest of the meat patties on a plate. Then she picked it up to take back over to the grill, saying as she left, "Things are complicated for everyone, Santana. Just in different ways."

She watched her walk away, knowing she was right. It was just hard to remember it sometimes.

While they ate, Santana listened while Brittany and her dad carried on a deep discussion about the electoral politics of woodland creatures. It included such abstruse topics as whether skunks received extra representation because of their powerful stench lobby, and the growing problem of low voter turnout among songbirds. They egged each other on, Brittany keeping a straight face as always, but with amusement radiating from her gaze. Every time she came up with a new and particularly absurd observation, Gerald looked at her with proud delight.

Santana smiled a little, looking down at her plate. It was adorable, of course. It always was. But as usual, it left her feeling sad.

Bunny seemed to notice, but with typical Mom-clumsiness, chose the exact wrong question to ask. "How are your parents, honey?"

Santana looked up to find everybody staring at her. "They're good," she said awkwardly. "As far as I know. I think they're in... Belize. Or Panama. Something like that."

Bunny exchanged a quick glance with her husband, and now Santana felt even more pathetic.

"Well, you tell your dad I said hi," Gerald said. "I still appreciate all those free pseudophedrine samples he got me from the hospital. Thanks to the darn meth-heads, you just can't get the stuff over the counter anymore. At least not in bulk."

She forced herself to look pleasant. "I will."

She wouldn't, she knew. And not only because she'd stolen those samples herself. But because she didn't foresee much conversation between her and her father, possibly not for the rest of her life. And now, without wanting to, she was forced to remember why.

It was just before she'd gotten shipped off to Puerto Rico for the summer. As if he felt bad for exiling her, he'd asked her to stop for a layover in Miami, to attend some kind of fancy medical conference with him. She didn't know exactly what the event was for, but it was enough to know it required evening dress and new heels. She accepted, flattered by the offer, since, as she well knew, the offers were few and far between these days.

When she was younger, she'd often attended events with him; country club luncheons, black tie benefits, that sort of thing. Her primary role at these functions was to let him show her off, to let him play the role of wealthy father who just couldn't help showering his princess with whatever she wanted. She was of course expected to keep up her end of the game, to giggle and pretend to be embarrassed, to say things like "Daddy, don't tell them that!" while he loudly joked to anyone who would listen about what she'd made him buy her last month. And the horrible thing was that she did it. She played her part, because as fake as it was, it was better than nothing. It was the only kind of interaction she had with him. Once they were out of the public eye, it was like she donned an invisibility cloak.

So, even while hating herself a little for her eagerness, she jumped at the chance to go. He even seemed in a particularly attentive mood, telling her that she looked nice, which she knew was an understatement because she looked hot as hell, but it was the thought that counted. He even brought her a glass of champagne, and when she looked surprised and said, "Really?" he told her to have as much as she wanted. So she did, drinking one after another, feeling like a true adult. Maybe now things would be different, she thought with delight as the bubbles went straight to her head. Maybe he just didn't like kids, and now that she was almost grown up they'd be able to spend more time together.

Over the course of the evening, she noticed an odd thing, which was that he wasn't referring to her as his daughter. He just introduced her by name, as if she were his secretary or something. It gradually dawned on her that he didn't want anyone to know she was his kid. But she was cynical enough not to be shocked by it. She rationalized that it was probably something wealthy middle-aged men did all the time, when their daughters were too old to be of any use to their image as _daughters _anymore, but only as arm candy. The champagne made her just tipsy enough so that she could overlook it. At least he was paying attention to her. She would never see these people again anyway.

But then he drew her aside and pointed out a distinguished looking older man across the room, silver-haired and impeccably dressed. "Walter Fox," he told her. "Could be a very important donor when we get the new wing built on the hospital next year, if we play our cards right."

"He looks rich enough," she said, not very interested. The alcohol was making her hungry, and she was wondering if she was brave enough to attempt the caviar.

"Poor guy just lost his wife last year." He looked at her pointedly. "I imagine he could really do with some company right about now. He's a lonely man."

Misunderstanding, she thought he was trying to get rid of her so he could go out with the boys, maybe hit a high-class strip club.

"Do you want me to go back to the hotel?" she asked, not surprised. Disappointed, but not surprised.

He smiled a little, like he thought she was an idiot. "I don't think it's _my _company that he'd be interested in."

She stared at him as understanding dawned, confusion turning into disbelief. _Oh. Of course. _ Then she forced herself to look away, determined to keep her dignity. She wasn't going to put on a show for these people.

He spoke in a deceptively light and joking tone, like they were talking about her next shopping trip. "Let's not pretend we're some spotless little lamb, all right? Save ourselves that embarrassment? It'd be almost as funny as when your mother tries it." He smiled and took a swig of his cocktail, waving at a woman across the room. "Maybe it's time you start thinking about your future. Do you know how much out-of-state tuition is, _princesa_? Or... what?" He looked amused. "Were you planning to get yourself a job... pay your own way?"

She didn't respond to this, not even knowing where to begin.

"I didn't think so," he said smugly.

He continued to wait patiently for her decision, as if he already knew what it was. She stared at the champagne fountain and the hors d'œuvre platter, not really seeing them. Everything continued to have the substance of reality, so apparently this was actually happening.

"Fine," she eventually said in a small voice, not making eye contact with him. She swallowed another gulp of champagne. "I just need to run to the bathroom first. _Freshen up_," she added with irony, though he didn't seem to notice. In fact, he wasn't even looking at her. He was looking across the room at the older man, and she saw a smile and a hint of a nod pass between them. Which was when she realized that, of course, this had all been arranged earlier.

She walked calmly to the nearest bathroom, holding her head up, then ducked into the first stall and vomited up all the champagne she'd had over the course of the evening. She knew, even before she'd finished being sick, that she'd never be able to bear the smell or the taste of it again.

Finding a back exit to the banquet hall, she took a cab to the hotel and quickly packed up her belongings. Then she emptied one of her father's suitcases and filled it with all the snacks and liquor bottles in the hotel mini-fridge. Before she zipped it up, she added the shampoo bottles, the towels, the complimentary bathrobes, and the TV remote control. Last but not least, she called a transsexual escort service and ordered him a hooker for 3:00 a.m. "And could you not reveal the big surprise until the last minute?" she asked. "He's kinky that way."

At the airport she used his credit card to buy a first class ticket to Puerto Rico, even though she already had one for a flight the next day. On second thought, she went back to the ticket counter and bought the remaining first class seats, which totaled seven. Why not?

She ignored the constant ringing of her phone, eventually turning it off. Within two hours, she was on her way out of the country. And other than a few text messages with basic information about where on the planet he and her mother were headed to, she hadn't spoken to him since.

"But Dad," Brittany was now saying as Santana came out of her disgusted trip down memory lane. "That doesn't make any sense. If they don't redraw the district lines, then the rodents and the insects get screwed. Because they're still recovering from years of oppression."

He reached over and yanked one of her braids playfully. "You know, that's a good point."

Santana laid her plate aside, her appetite gone. She stood up, and when Brittany looked at her questioningly, said, "I'm gonna go change clothes... I've got to get out of this swimsuit."

She retreated to her and Brit's tent, zipping it up behind her, and lay down on her sleeping bag. She took a deep breath and let it out, staring up at the trees through the mesh ceiling vent. Finally, to her relief, the voices tapered off outside. After changing into jeans and a peasant top, she made another futile effort to tame her hair. When she finally emerged from the tent, Brittany was nowhere to be seen.

"Hey," she said to Ariel, who was sitting on a blanket, coloring a picture of a pumpkin with a purple crayon. "Where's your sister?"

"She went off in the woods. That way," she indicated.

"Maybe she wanted a break from you," Bianca suggested.

"Maybe she wanted a break from _you_," Santana said. Okay, it wasn't her best comeback, but she was distracted. Not only was she still in a blue mood from thinking about her dad, but now she was wondering whether Brittany had snuck back out to look for the damn snake again. What if she came across something poisonous this time?

She set off in the direction Ariel had indicated, stepping carefully over brush and sticks. Of course, she _would _go off somewhere there wasn't even a path. Santana angrily brushed bugs out of her hair. It kept trapping them like a net.

"Brittany?" she called. No answer. Then she thought she heard her voice, up ahead and a little to the left. She moved toward it. Who on earth was she talking to? The words became clearer as she approached, and she saw that Brit was sitting on a log in a little clearing, facing away, having a cell phone conversation with... someone. She hadn't intended to eavesdrop, but now that she was here she had no choice, right?

"I do miss you," she was saying. "But you knew this would happen. I've been telling you all summer, when Santana gets back, things are gonna change for a while. I have to spend time with her right now... I have to. She needs me. But it doesn't mean I don't love you. You just have to be patient." She paused for a minute, then said. "I've got to go now, they'll be wondering where I am. I'll see you when I get home. Please don't be mad at me. And don't talk about me behind my back. You know that hurts my feelings."

Santana stood behind her, not even bothering to conceal herself, feeling like all the air had suddenly left her lungs. Who the hell could she possibly be talking to? Hot Wheels? Some new boy? Some new girl? _Quinn_? This last possibility sent chills down her spine, because there'd been that one time in freshman year... and even though Her Holiness had made them swear on a Bible they'd never speak of it again, Santana sure as hell hadn't forgotten it, whether Fabray pretended she had or not. And Brittany _had _mentioned the two of them had been talking this summer.

_For the love of all that is sacred, do I have to compete with that skanky porcelain doll over every fucking thing for the rest of my life? Can't I be free of her grabby little paws even when I switch to the other team? Can't I have anything good, ever? _Working herself up to a pitch of near-rage, she almost didn't notice when Brittany hung up the phone and turned around to see her standing there.

"Santana. You shouldn't sneak up on people in the woods. What if they're going to the bathroom?"

She stared at her in shock. "That's all you have to say?"

Brittany glanced around, confused, then asked slowly, "What do you want me to say?"

"Oh, I don't know, how about 'I'm sorry for making you think I would wait for you.' Or 'I'm sorry I can't keep it in my pants for even three freaking months.' Bitterness dripped from every word.

"What are you talking about?"

"I _heard _you, Brit," she said. "I heard the whole thing!"

Brittany seemed to think about this for a second. "Wait, you were spying on me?"

But Santana ignored this, not even really hearing it. She was driven on by anger, by increasing hysteria. She was afraid if she didn't keep ranting, she would collapse in tears. "You know, I could have fooled around this summer too! It's not like there weren't opportunities. There was this one girl... I don't know how she knew, but she _knew_. She was a total hottie and she was completely into me. But I didn't do anything! Or _hardly _anything," she amended. "You know why? Because all I could think about was getting back home, and seeing you."

Without saying anything, Brittany continued to stare at her with what looked like pity, which only made Santana feel more vengeful.

"I should have known this would happen, though. That bitch steals everything else from me, why not you too? I can't believe I didn't see it coming. She knew how easy it would be, she knows how sweet you are, how... how..."

"Dumb?" Brittany asked in a quietly sarcastic voice.

"_Innocent_, is what I was gonna say. She knew it wouldn't take much. Because that's the difference between you and me, Brit. You love everyone. But for me, it's just you." She swallowed hard, willing herself not to lose it. "You're the only one. There is no one else for me."

Brittany continued to stare at her for a few more seconds, and then dropped her gaze and moved a little closer. With an air of wanting to put her out of her misery, she lifted her phone and turned it around, showing it to Santana. There was a tiny picture of a gray tabby on the screen.

Santana stared at it. It was like something in a dream that should have made sense but didn't. "You want me to look at a cat! Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

"I was just leaving a message for Lord Tubbington," Brittany explained softly. "He's really mad that we had to leave him home alone. I thought it would be nice if he could hear my voice on the answering machine."

Santana closed her eyes slowly, horrified. _Oh shit. Oh you've got to be kidding me. You have got to be fucking kidding me. _

"Your _cat_?" she finally asked, in a voice that implied _Really, Brittany? REALLY? _But of course it wasn't Brit's fault, and it was wrong to even insinuate that it was. This was all her fault. Because she was destined to ruin everything. Through cowardice. Through selfishness. Through sheer stupidity, apparently. If it wasn't one thing, it was another. She would always be the one to ruin it.

Brittany appeared to be thinking, putting pieces together. "Did you think I was talking to _Quinn_? That's insane. She's straight."

Santana didn't even bother arguing that this wasn't one hundred percent accurate, or at least not in her experience. She was too miserable to even feel defensive. "It's just... it's been a really long day," she offered in a weak voice.

"And even if she wasn't straight," Brittany went on. "I can't believe you think I would fall for that. As the great and talented Britney Spears once said, 'I'm not that innocent.'"

"I know you're not," Santana said, not able to meet her eyes. This was so humiliating.

"If you're this paranoid now, what are you gonna be like when we're really together?" She paused. "I just don't know what else I can do. To prove to you how much I love you. It's like you never believe me."

"Brittany..." she began, but then stopped. She couldn't think of anything to say. There were no words. They stood facing each other for a moment in silence.

Then Brittany approached her, very close, and for a crazy second Santana thought she was about to kiss her, because why not? This moment couldn't possibly get any weirder or more uncomfortable. But instead she just brushed a mosquito off her shoulder and said, "Anyway. I can tell you're feeling super ridiculous right now, so... I'm gonna leave you alone and go help my mom clean up." Then she nodded to herself, adding in a soft voice, "_Yeah_," as she passed by.

Santana remained where she was, alone in the clearing. She tried to think of how she could possibly make Brittany understand how confusing and complicated all this was for someone like her, someone who was so new to this entire plane of human experience. How could she explain to her that she'd never done this before? That she'd never loved anyone? That she'd never in her life had anything worth protecting? She had no idea what she was doing. It was like moving to a foreign country where she didn't speak the language or know any of the customs.

But maybe Brittany did understand this, after all. _Maybe she understands it even better than I do. Why the hell else would she put up with me?_

She kept standing where she was until the mosquitoes made it impossible to remain any longer. What she wanted to do, more than anything, was fetch Gerald's poop stick, dig a hole big enough for herself to climb into, and then wait for some kind soul to do her the favor of covering her up with dirt. Instead, she turned around and headed reluctantly back toward the campsite.


	5. Chapter 5

**Couple notes:**

**Laura: I do understand your feelings on the section about Santana's dad, and I apologize to anyone who would prefer the fic to stay on the light/comedy side, but I did intend all along to introduce heavier stuff in the latter half. I probably shouldn't try to get both the comedy and the angst in one fic, but that's just the way the story came to me. I guess it's a hot mess of a fic in the same way Glee is a hot mess of a show. (I do have to point out, though, that hella is not just a California word - people say it everywhere. My ghetto-posturing Santana-esque friend uses it annoyingly often. ;)**

**For those who like the lighter stuff, though, there's still plenty of that to come. I'm currently having way too much fun writing a Santana dream sequence where the entire Glee club is at the campsite with her. But this chapter in particular is something I really needed to do, because it's an issue that's close to my heart & I'm not sure the Glee writers will ever delve into it much, living as they do in their LA bubble.**

**Anyway, thank you so much, again, to everyone who reviews. I can't tell you how much I appreciate it. I keep thinking I'm getting someone else's story alerts and reviews by mistake. Group hug!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 5<strong>

The dice were thrown, skittered across the board, and came up seven. Santana narrowed her eyes in concentration, then moved her top hat token the appropriate number of spaces. She landed on Baltic Avenue, where Bianca had a house erected.

"You have to pay me rent!" the little girl crowed.

"Hmm, not so fast," she told her. "See, the thing is, there was some gang-inspired arson last week, and now all my stuff is ruined. So who's responsible for that... the owner, or the tenant? I think if you'd read the lease, you'd know the answer. This is what happens when you own property in the hood."

"What?"

"I will, however, give you two dollars so you can take the bus back home, since you came all the way down here for nothing."

Bianca took the proffered white money, confused. "You can't do that."

"Ariel's turn!" Santana said, ignoring her.

And this is where she found herself, on a Friday night, the _last _Friday night before school started. Not at some killer party getting buzzed off her ass. Not having sexytimes with Brittany in the air-conditioned comfort of her own home. Not even hanging out with the rest of the Glee club in some lame pizza-party meeting at Shuester's house, which at the moment didn't sound half bad. Instead, she was in a forest, covered in bug spray, sitting at a wobbly table with a lantern hanging over it, playing Monopoly with a moody Brittany and two eight-year-old girls. _What the hell has happened to my life?_

The game, of course, was proving to be hopelessly complicated due to the fact that Brittany didn't understand the rules, Ariel made up her own whimsical rules, Santana cheated, and Bianca was constantly on the brink of a meltdown because of the chaos. "That's not how you do it!" she kept lecturing. Out of the four board games Ariel had brought along (more evidence that Gerald and Bunny were insane for letting a second-grader do her own packing), Monopoly had seemed to Santana like the least of all evils, though not by a wide margin. At least it involved money, if only the fake kind. The other girls' first choice had been Candyland, but she'd talked them out of it, explaining that the last time she played Candyland, someone lost a finger.

"What if the dog pushes the wheelbarrow?" Ariel now suggested.

"You can't use two tokens," Bianca told her. "You have to pick one."

"But I don't want any of them to be left out."

Santana sighed, wondering what time it was. She glanced at Brittany, who had her arms crossed over her chest and wasn't looking at her. She still seemed upset from their little scene in the woods earlier, as she had every right to be. But Santana was beginning to get impatient. She'd agreed to play this stupid game, hadn't she, against all her better instincts? She was trying to be as nice as she could. She needed Brittany to _not _be mad at her the way she needed air. When she held a grudge for too long, it was terrifying. The feeling reminded her of a recurring dream she sometimes had in which a tornado was trying to blow her off the face of the earth and she couldn't find anything to hold onto, no anchor to grab to keep her from oblivion.

After Ariel, it was Brittany's turn. She rolled a four and landed on the Free Parking space.

"I don't understand what I'm supposed to do here," she said, sounding glum as she moved her shoe token.

Bianca explained. "You don't do anything, you just sit there until your next turn."

"Why would I want to just sit in a parking lot?" She thought for a second. "Can I get out of the car?"

"There is no car."

"Then why am I in a parking lot?"

Bianca leaned her head against the table, shaking it back and forth.

On Santana's next turn, she drew a card from the Community Chest that told her to go directly to jail. "Hold up, look at this!" she said, pretending to be excited. "It says that Brittany gets to leave the parking lot and move her token wherever she wants to. And she also gets $300 for being the best player."

"Let me see that," Bianca demanded, but Santana held the card up over her head.

Brittany looked intrigued as she considered this. "Does it really say my name on there?"

Santana shrugged a little. "I'm paraphrasing." She smiled sweetly and handed three hundred dollar bills across the table.

Brittany seemed to soften a little as she took the play money, but then she set her expression again and muttered, "I'm still mad at you though." Ariel and Bianca looked from one of them to the other as if wondering what was going on, but didn't say anything.

Damn it. _Okay, I tried doing the whole nice thing, and it's not working. It looks like maybe it's time to move onto Phase Two: Seduction. Because if there's one thing Santana Lopez knows how to do, it's to make damn sure the world wants all up on this._

She pretended to spill a few drops of Pepsi onto her lap. "Oh, great," she said in exaggerated annoyance. "Now I have to change clothes _again_." She stood up and moved the money over toward Ariel, instructing her to keep a close eye on it as she gave Bianca a warning look. "I'll be right back," she told them as she headed for the tent.

She emerged about five minutes later wearing an extremely short, tight red dress that she'd brought along on the off chance it would come in handy at some point. There was no justification for traveling anywhere without at least one cleavage-enhancing ensemble, in her opinion. On her feet were a pair of inappropriate heels that Brittany had missed during her spot check. She'd managed to get her hair under control for the time being with a headband, and using a flashlight, she'd quickly redone her eye makeup and lipstick.

Gerald was doing a crossword puzzle by the campfire and glanced up and then back down as she passed by, then did a double take and looked up again. Bunny took the crossword puzzle and smacked him on the back of the head with it.

When she got back to the table, Brittany stared at her for a few seconds in surprise. But her reaction wasn't exactly what Santana was hoping for. She seemed more confused than turned on. "Why are you wearing that?"

"I don't know. I just thought since I had to change clothes anyway, I might as well look good."

Brittany didn't seem especially convinced. "It's your turn," she told her.

Sitting down, she rolled the dice, while Ariel continued to stare at her in awe. "You look really pretty," she told her.

"Thank you," she said with a superior smile. At least someone thought so. She moved her token and landed on the Chance slot. Drawing a card, she saw that it once again instructed her to go directly to jail. _What the fuck?_ she thought, irritated.

"It says you have to give me Boardwalk," she told Bianca.

"_What_? Why?"

"Because that hotel you have on there is a crack den. You know what happens if you own a crack den when the Feds swoop down because some politician is in there getting his knob polished with a coked-up showgirl?" She paused, looking as if she felt bad. "You lose the _whole game_. Do you really want to take that risk?"

Bianca looked to Ariel for support, who just gave a massive shrug as if to say, "Don't ask me."

"I hate you," she muttered as she pulled out the title card.

Santana held out her hand. "That's right, fork it over, Mousekewitz."

While they continued playing, Santana mulled over how best to implement her plan. Brittany seemed to be stealing covert glances at her every few seconds, so maybe she was a _little _interested. On one of her rolls of the dice, Santana deliberately sent them too close to the edge of the table so that she had to lean far over to retrieve them, putting her tits practically under Brit's nose. "Sorry," she said in an innocent voice.

Brittany seemed to roll her eyes a little. Okay, so maybe this wasn't working. It was all so much easier with boys. She wished she could just get her in the tent right now, because while Brit was the undisputed expert at emotional manipulation, Santana knew she could be very persuasive when it came to the physical stuff. Unfortunately, it was still too early for bed.

Making a last ditch effort to deploy her wiles, on her next turn she "accidentally" dropped one of the dice down into her cleavage. "_Ughh_, I'm such a klutz tonight," she groaned. She pretended to dig for it, intending to whisk it out in a sexy maneuver, but then she found she couldn't actually locate it. She stared down between her breasts, growing embarrassed under everyone's gazes, Brittany's in particular radiating skeptical boredom. "Hold on just a second." She dug some more, feeling like an idiot. _Oh, come on, are you kidding me? How could it get lost in there?_

"Do you want me to help?" Ariel offered. "I have small hands."

"_No_!" Santana told her, horrified. "I'll find it."

But she was spared any further awkwardness by Gerald hollering out, "Who thinks it's dark enough for ghost stories?"

"I do!" Ariel shouted, jumping up and knocking the game board off the table, along with all the houses, hotels, cards, and tokens. None of the girls seemed particularly concerned.

They moved over to the campfire, and Brittany sat down on the ground, crossing her legs underneath her. Santana stood for a few seconds, unsure of what to do, and then sat down next to her. She wanted to move closer, but Brit still didn't seem to have forgiven her enough for that.

"It's getting cold out here," she remarked, hoping for an invitation to cuddle. Even if it was just the platonic, audience-friendly kind.

But instead Bunny seemed to come out of nowhere, saying "Here, sweetheart," as she dropped a blanket over her shoulders, making sure to cover up her chest. Santana had a feeling she'd been waiting in the wings with the blanket for just this opportunity.

Thwarted in her plans, she said, "Thanks, Mrs..." She stopped herself. "Bunny."

She met Brittany's eyes for a second, and she was glad to see she smiled just a little before looking away. It was progress.

The night _was _getting cool, she hadn't just been making it up. It was quiet and almost unbelievably dark outside the small circle of light in the clearing. Every once in a while a scrap of music or a loud laugh would reach them from someone else's distant campsite, but for the most part, it was silent. The last fireflies of summer flickered on and off along the margins of the lake, and owls hooted to each other across the water. Santana found it all creepy and unbearably cliché.

Over the next hour or so, everybody listened while Gerald told nonsensical ghost stories which seemed to be mostly amalgamations of two or more different stories that didn't have anything to do with each other. None of them had much logic or coherence, but no one seemed to mind since the atmosphere aided in the spooky tone. Santana tried to contribute by narrating tales of past Lima Heights murders, though no one seemed to be quite as entertained by these as she was - with the possible exception of Bianca, who made thought-provoking observations like, "I bet he was an animal hoarder, that's why the body got eaten."

During one particularly eerie story narrated by Bunny about a haunted whole foods store, Santana thought she noticed that Brittany seemed to be inching just a little bit closer to her. She watched out of the corner of her eye, and yep, she was definitely moving in her direction. She lifted the edge of the blanket, hoping to entice her, but just then Ariel exclaimed "Daddy, will you make flashlight animals?" Brittany yawned and stretched, in the process moving away again. Apparently story time was over. Santana gritted her teeth together and tried to resist shoving the kid into the fire.

Gerald went to fetch the flashlight, but when he attempted to turn it on, nothing happened. "Hmm," he said, looking it over, as if this was a really big mystery.

"Did you buy new batteries like I told you to?" Bunny asked him.

He stared at her blankly.

She sighed. "Gerald, we _have _to a have a flashlight, in case anyone needs to use the bathroom in the dark."

"Well," he said, reluctantly. "I'll just have to run back up to that gas station, I guess. The sign on the door said they're open all night."

"I can do it," Santana volunteered, not needing more than a split second to think it over. Everyone looked at her, surprised by her eagerness. "I mean..." she clarified. "I feel like I haven't helped out much. I'd be glad to."

"You sure?" Gerald asked, skeptical. Gesturing toward the van, he added, "That thing's no picnic to drive."

She smiled. "Yeah, I think I can handle it." The truth was that some time alone, even half an hour, sounded wonderful. There was only so much of this family togetherness stuff that she could take. True, she'd been around her own family for months this summer, but it didn't count. They weren't really _family_, they were relatives. She barely even knew them, and it was clear they didn't like her. They only put up with her because her parents sent them a ton of money.

Bunny gave her the keys and she didn't waste any time in heading toward the van, promising to get the batteries as well as an extra bag of ice for the cooler. Before she could climb in, though, someone approached.

"Hey."

She turned around to find that Brittany had followed her. It was so dark this far from the campfire that her features were just barely visible.

"Hey," she said back to her, surprised.

"Do you want me to go with you?"

Santana hesitated. _Of course I do. What do you think?_ But she got the feeling that Brit was only asking because she felt like she should, and not because she really wanted to go. Glancing back toward the fire, she noticed that the two younger girls were getting the marshmallows out, preparing to make S'mores. "That's okay," she finally said, trying to make it sound casual. "I know this is your favorite part."

Brittany looked over at the fire, and even though she didn't argue the point, she didn't seem to want to join them again quite yet either.

They stood in silence for a minute, and it felt so unnatural. Santana was beginning to think that she'd screwed up worse than ever before. It was just a stupid misunderstanding, but she could see how badly Brittany's feelings were hurt. What had she done? What could she possibly do to make it right?

"So how long are you gonna stay mad at me?" she asked, her voice deceptively light.

"I don't know," Brittany said slowly. "Not much longer, probably. But you _did _call me a slut."

"I didn't say that."

"Well... you said I couldn't keep it in my pants."

Santana looked down. "Oh yeah." _Damn it_. She just wanted this day to be over. She continued, knowing she probably shouldn't. "To be fair, though, Brit, that call did sound really bad. I mean, who talks to their cat like that?"

Brittany continued to stare at her, not saying anything. She seemed disappointed, and like she expected something, but Santana couldn't figure out what the hell it was.

"Okay, I get why you're upset. I'm just gonna go now, before I say anything else I'll regret." Without thinking, she reached out and gently turned the center bead on the necklace she'd put on Brit earlier, the one with the _love _symbol on it. Brittany stared down at it, and Santana drew her hand back, awkwardly. "It was backwards," she explained.

The action seemed to soften Brittany's expression a little. "Be careful," she said. "This thing _is _hard to drive. One time I wrecked it before I was out of the garage."

Santana smiled a little. "I will, I promise."

She watched Brittany walk back over to the group at the fire, and she stared at them all for a second from the deep shadows. They were all so happy, so at ease with each other. All of this seemed so natural to them - even Bianca, who had only known the Pierces for a few months. Why was it so much harder for her? What was wrong with her that she couldn't just enjoy this, like any normal person would? Sadly, she climbed into the driver's seat.

Gerald watched her leave, cringing as if he expected her to back into a tree at any second. They hadn't been lying, the van was absurdly hard to drive. She felt like she was navigating a tank. She kept to the middle of the road, reasoning that if anyone else was out on these dirt tracks this late at night, they'd just have to move out of her way.

Somehow, without quite knowing how she did it, she found her way back to the gas station they'd stopped at this afternoon. It took much longer than she thought it would to get there, but she was just glad she'd been able to locate it in the middle of nowhere.

In the parking lot, she walked over to the fuel tanks out of curiosity and found that the scene of the crime was intact - there was still a substantial puddle of gasoline on the pavement. She shook her head at what she considered the laziness of country people, but it gave her an idea.

Inside the convenience store, she checked to make sure the place was deserted, as she'd expected it to be this late at night, and then went straight up to the man behind the counter. Or boy, rather. He was scrawny and short and appeared to be about seventeen, and he looked her up and down with wide eyes.

She put on her best queen bitch face. "Excuse me, _hi_. I don't know if anyone's bothered to point it out to you yet or not, but you've got a hell of a gasoline spill over by the fuel pumps."

Reluctantly he tore his gaze away from her chest and leaned over the counter to peer through the front windows.

"Yeah, it looks like someone went apeshit out there," Santana went on. "You're lucky some yokel hasn't lit a match and blown this place to smithereens like in a Road Runner cartoon." She paused while he looked at her nervously. "See, what you've got here is a serious safety hazard. I'm a lawyer specializing in environmental issues? And I just happen to have the EPA on speed dial." As if to confirm this, she showed him her phone. "The thing is though, I really don't want to have to make that call. Because my caseload is insane right now, and that's not even including my pro bono work on the anti-show tunes bill we're about to pass in Congress. Besides," she said, crossing her arms and leaning on the counter a little, "You seem like such a nice guy, I'd hate to cause all that trouble for you..."

"I'll take care of it," he broke in, looking both worried and aroused. "Don't call anyone."

"Thank you so much, Dustin," she said, noticing his name tag. She gave him what she thought was a sweet smile, but it only seemed to intimidate him more. Oh, well. That worked too.

She watched while he hefted a bag full of sand or something onto his shoulder, then waited while he went outside and moved toward the tanks. When he was safely out of sight, she stepped behind the counter and looked for the most expensive bottle of tequila. She'd had a new idea, and it was to try to convince Brittany to let her do body shots. Because after all, how can anyone stay mad at you when you're licking something off of them? It seemed like a foolproof plan.

She chose one and slipped it into her oversize purse, purchased especially for occasions like these. Since the kid was still outside, she examined the bourbon, wondering if it was worth it to take a bottle of Jack. She already had one at home, but might as well stock up while it was free.

"Can you grab me some Wild Turkey while you're back there?"

She froze. _Shit_. And she'd been so sure the place was empty.

Turning around slowly, she saw a man emerging from the back of the store, near the bathroom area. It was the guy from the canoe. The skinny one who was almost cute, but not quite. He was smiling in a conspiratorial way.

She didn't smile back. "Wild Turkey is for deadbeats and trailer trash."

"Well, then, I guess I'm trailer trash," he said, not offended. If anything he looked like she'd just complimented him.

She sighed. So he was one of _those _guys. She considered simply telling him to go to hell, but he sort of had her backed into a corner. He'd just seen her shoplifting. If she didn't play along, he could easily rat her out. If she was alone she might have risked it, but she didn't want the Pierces to have to bail her out of the local slammer. The thought of it was humiliating. And she doubted it would do much to improve Brittany's current opinion of her.

Checking to make sure poor Dustin was still occupied with sprinkling sand on the gasoline puddle, she turned around and pulled down a bottle of Wild Turkey, then held it out to him.

But he lifted his hands up, helplessly. "I ain't got nowhere to store it. Keep it for me til we get outside?"

She rolled her eyes. Didn't it just figure? Because this day couldn't possibly get any more awesome than it already was. But she put it into her purse, hearing it clink against the other bottle. She lifted the now significantly heavier handbag onto her shoulder and came out from behind the counter.

"Where's your friend?"

"She drowned," she replied casually, looking for the aisle with the batteries.

"No shit." He was still smiling.

"Yeah, I'm all broken up about it."

Finally she found the batteries and stood in front of them, trying to figure out what the hell she was supposed to get. She'd had no idea there were so many varieties and sizes. The only ones she was intimately familiar with were double A, because that's what went in her remote control. And her vibrator.

Deciding to be on the safe side, she took one package from each slot and put it in her purse. The guy watched her, seeming impressed. When she moved over to the snack food aisle, he followed her yet again.

_I shouldn't have worn this dress_, she thought. _Sometimes being this smokin' hot is just a pain in the ass._

"My friend Jed took off earlier," he explained to her, as if she'd asked. "Had to work tomorrow."

"Aw, that's too bad," she told him with mock sympathy. "Who are you gonna play dueling banjos with?" She grabbed some licorice and a couple of boxes of Dots for Brittany, adding them to the liquor and batteries.

"I like you," he said as he grinned at her. "You're _spicy_."

She pushed past him and went up to counter, just as Dustin came back in from the parking lot, looking out of breath and irritable.

"I'd like to buy a bag of ice," she told him.

"That's it?" he asked her, incredulous. "You've been in here for like ten minutes."

"Well, your stock leaves a little something to be desired. This place is like a time warp... seriously, how old are those Shasta cans? I don't even think they make that anymore."

He exhaled heavily and rang her up. "That's $1.84."

She handed him two ones, smiling. "Keep the change, Dustin. You've been so helpful."

He pocketed the sixteen cents in an ironic manner, not replying to her.

Outside the store, she looked around to find out where the guy was parked, wanting to hand over his whiskey and get out of here as fast as possible. It was like the tequila in her purse was calling to her. She hoped she'd be able to locate the salt shaker in the boxes of food at the campsite without having to explain why she wanted it. They would just have to do without the limes.

She spotted his car over on the side of the building, away from the streetlights, which explained why she hadn't seen it to begin with. Glancing behind her to make sure he was following, she headed out to it.

Once there, she reached in and pulled out the bourbon, holding it out to him. But again, he didn't take it.

"I got a better idea," he told her. "You want to party?"

She looked at him like he was crazy. "_Here_?"

He raised his eyebrows as if to say _Why not_?

"Look, Opie," she said, deciding subtlety was not going to work on this guy. "You wouldn't be able to _handle _partying with me, okay? I'm A-List, and you... well, you're not even on the list. So why don't you take your hillbilly whiskey and go back to your fishin' hole, and just forget you ever saw me. I know it's hard, but it'll be better for you in the long run." She set the bottle on the hood of his car and started to walk away.

"Okey-dokey!" he called after her. "I guess I'll smoke this stuff myself. It's just that it's so good, it seems a shame not to share."

Her steps slowed as she considered this. So _that's _what he was talking about. It had been a long time. And holy hell, it would be so nice to sleep tonight. A long, full night's sleep... which she had no doubt she was _not _going to get without some serious assistance. This was only Friday, and she knew the Pierces weren't planning to leave until Monday morning. That meant there were still three nights in a tent to get through.

She knew she shouldn't. She knew she really shouldn't... But now she came to a full stop, thinking. She could feel him watching her. It occurred to her that she could _pretend _to smoke it with him, and then just steal the bulk of it when he wasn't looking. She'd done it before.

She turned back around, having made up her mind. "Five minutes," she told him firmly. "That's it."

He smiled as if he'd expected this all along. "Ladies first," he said, opening the passenger side door for her.

She gingerly climbed into his disgusting car, some boxy late eighties model that had probably been handed over from his mom. It had wood veneer paneling on the dash and the upholstered seats had long ago been worn down and ripped nearly into oblivion. She made a face at the smell as he went around to get in on the other side, hoping the scent wouldn't cling to her dress. But she'd probably have to trash it no matter what. It already felt contaminated.

Once he was inside, he ceremoniously turned the radio on to what sounded like a country station, then took a plastic baggie out of the glove compartment. Santana waited with annoyed impatience while he rolled a joint. Of course, he wasn't prepared. And seriously, who still used rolling papers? What era was this?

"This shit's amazing," he explained to her, unaware of how much she was judging him. "Seventh generation Amsterdam." He looked over at her and then clarified. "That's in Europe."

She gave him a tight-lipped sarcastic smile, but didn't otherwise reply.

Finally, he got the damn thing lit and passed it over to her. She took a very careful drag, not wanting to inhale much. To distract him, she asked with distaste, "What _is _this?" referring to the song on the radio.

"It's _Redneck Woman_," he told her with surprise, as if it should be obvious to everyone. "What, don't tell me you never got your Gretchen Wilson on, girl."

She looked at him like he was from another planet. Taking another, deeper, hit, she held the thing out and scrutinized it. "Who told you this stuff was from Amsterdam?"

"My friend Jed. The guy from earlier."

"Yeah, well, you might not want to take Jed's advice about anything that counts, like your stock portfolio, because I'm pretty sure this was grown in some window box in Indiana. It smells like oregano."

"Does the job for _me_," he said, not offended. He took it back from her and inhaled deeply.

With the windows only cracked at the top, the interior of the car was rapidly filling up with smoke. It was a good thing the weed didn't seem to be strong, because otherwise there was the risk for a pretty significant contact high. But then, all of a sudden, she felt a strange sweeping upwards in her consciousness, a lightness and fuzzy heaviness at the same time. Her eyes went briefly out of focus and she leaned back against the headrest. _Damn_.

Noticing, the guy started to laugh at her. "You see? What'd I tell ya? Just takes a while to kick in, is all."

She found this slightly amusing, and not nearly as irritating as she should have, which definitely meant the stuff was affecting her. Another way she could tell it was working was that she was really starting to like this song. Just to be on the safe side, she reached over and turned the volume down.

He coughed a little. "So what's your name?" He passed her the blunt again, leaning too close to her.

She considered for a second. "Rachel Fabray." She took another hit and blew it out slowly. "My ancestors were famous for being both frigid and slutty at the same time." Then she laughed a little as an image swam into her mind of what Quinn and Berry's lovechild would look like. Sometimes when she was baked, she thought she caught glimpses of what it must be like in Brittany's head.

"Right on," he said, unsure what to make of this. He seemed to consider, with great effort. "You don't look much like a Rachel though."

"Thanks," she told him, passing the joint back to him. "That means a lot."

"My name's John," he told her, seeming to realize that she wasn't going to ask. "Most of my friends call me John-boy."

_Of course they do_, she thought.

"Where you from?" he asked her.

She sighed. This small talk thing was so unnecessary. She should really be going, anyway. If he would just put the baggie back in the glove compartment, she could distract him and then take it.

She thought for a second and considered telling him that she was from Tribeca, but she doubted he knew where it was, so there didn't seem to be any point. "Lima," she said.

"Oh yeah? I been to Lima." He paused. "Great place."

Glancing at him sideways with a deeply cynical expression, she laughed through her nose a little.

"I was just tryin' to be nice," he explained.

And then, because he apparently thought she wanted to know all about him, he went on. "I'm from Parkersburg, over in West Virginia... headed back tonight. Try to get over here to the lake every chance we get, me and Jed. There's just somethin' about being out on the water. Makes you feel alive, like you're connected to everything."

Santana surprised herself by not rolling her eyes. It was probably just the weed, but the way he'd said that sounded almost profound. Maybe he wasn't entirely inbred, after all.

"What about you?" he prodded.

"Family vacation." She didn't elaborate, or explain whose family it was.

Then, to her relief, he seemed to decide to drop the efforts at chit chat. They sat in silence. Santana stared out at the chain link fence he was parked near, the criss-crossed wires appearing to swim around and melt in her vision. She focused her gaze instead on a ridiculous-looking dreamcatcher hanging from his rearview mirror, elaborate with purple beads and feathers. But it only made her feel more disconnected from reality. She needed to get out of this car. Her plans to not actually get high had been blown to hell. She wasn't even sure she'd be able to drive without waiting a while for the effects to wear off.

The energy required to simply open the car door, however, seemed to be beyond her at the moment. She stared at the handle, and then looked at her hands in her lap, commanding them to move. But wait... there were _three _hands in her lap. And one of them was large and had hair on the knuckles.

"_Ughh_," she made a disgusted noise, taking it and pushing it back toward him. "Don't."

After a few seconds, or it could have been minutes, since time seemed to have developed a strange elastic quality, she felt something against her neck. _Oh, you've got to be fucking kidding me._ The guy was trying to kiss her.

"Stop it." She shrugged him off like a mosquito. "It's not gonna happen."

But then he was back, making another attempt. "I like your perfume," he muttered against her ear, his hand dipping down into her cleavage.

"That's bug spray, you idiot," she said, shoving him off of her harder this time.

He came away with something pinched between his thumb and index finger, holding it up to the dim illumination from the faraway streetlight. It was the Monopoly dice. Squinting at it, he turned it over a few times and then looked at her in confusion.

"It's a long story," she told him.

He grinned as if he thought this was the best response ever, saying, "Don't worry, I can put it back."

He reached for her chest again, but she pushed his hand away. "All right, seriously, that's enough. You don't want to piss me off, trust me. It never ends well."

"_Jesus_," he said in a wounded voice, finally realizing that she meant it. "I'm not really trailer trash, you know. I live in a duplex."

She tried not to laugh. It wasn't as if he was the first guy ever to pull the pity card on her. She'd once had a member of the football team try to convince her that the fact that she wouldn't give him head meant that she was racist. And he'd been white. But for some reason, maybe because her thoughts were still a little cloudy, she actually felt just a tiny bit bad about it this time. She was a bitch, but she wasn't a _snob_. She'd made out with plenty of poor guys before. Just look at Sam.

"Look, it's nothing personal," she assured him. And then, since her inhibitions were down and she would never see him again and it was the perfect excuse, she drew a deep breath and took the plunge. "It's just... I don't swing that way. If you catch my drift."

He looked at her like he must have misinterpreted the words, laughing a little. "_What_?"

"You heard me." She avoided eye contact, slightly amazed by what she'd just done.

After a few minutes of contemplating this, he asked, "You serious?"

"Yeah, I'm serious." She paused, and then plunged ahead. "In fact, that girl I was with earlier... We're together."

Even though this wasn't technically true, not yet anyway, she'd wanted to see what it felt like to say it out loud. And it felt wonderful. It was as if just by saying the words, she brought it closer to being true, to being reality. She suddenly wished Brittany was here, that she could have heard those words. She would be proud, Santana knew she would.

But now she finally looked back over at the guy, _John-boy_, she reminded herself with irony. And he didn't look impressed at all. He didn't look amused. He didn't even look aroused or titillated, the way she'd halfway expected he would at this information. The expression on his face was one of shock at first, and then growing disgust.

"_Unbelievable_," he said, shaking his head a little. "That's just sick."

"What are you talking about, you moron?" she demanded, staring at him in bewilderment. "You were leering at us earlier. You were yelling at us to make out!"

"Yeah, because we thought it'd be hot. But we didn't know you were _real _dykes. That's disgusting."

And there it was. She'd known it was in store for her eventually, and she'd even thought she was getting closer to being prepared for it, maybe even ready to embrace it, in some postmodern ironic sense. But she wasn't. She knew now that she hadn't been anywhere near ready for it. Because it felt like her blood had turned to ice, like all the oxygen had suddenly been sucked out of the car.

"What?" she said, though the word didn't seem to make any sound. She wasn't entirely sure she'd said it out loud.

"You heard me," he said. "Man oh man. Just when I think I seen it all." He shook his head again, thinking, seeming to grow more revolted the more he dwelt on it. "Wish someone would take the whole lot of ya and just wipe you off the face of the planet."

Feeling like she must be hallucinating, because surely no one could be that terrible, she said in a voice just barely above a whisper, "How can you really think that?"

"How can anyone _not _think that?" He gave her another look of contempt, and then said, "You know what, get the fuck out of my car. Go on. Now."

She heard the words, but just barely, like they were coming from the bottom of a well. She was still stunned, looking out the window behind his head with a baffled expression, and she hardly noticed when he got out of the driver's side and circled around the front of the vehicle. The next thing she knew her door was opened and she was being gripped hard around the upper arm and pulled out of the car.

The sudden blast of fresh, cool air brought her momentarily back to her senses. She yanked her arm out of his grasp and spun around, welcoming the rage that filtered through her. "Get off me!" Without thinking, she flung herself back at him, trying to scratch his face up, but he shoved her away again with easy strength.

"Are you crazy, girl?" he asked her.

"Mm-hm that's right, I am!" she shouted at him. "A crazy, deranged lesbian, _and _I'm from Lima Heights Adjacent! _Y tu no quiero ni saber lo que pasa allí_!

He laughed at her. "I guess this explains why you're such a bitch, don't it? Probably just need to get laid."

She stared at him in shock, for the first time that she could recall rendered utterly speechless. She very nearly launched herself at him again, but there was some tiny self-preserving part of her brain holding her back, knowing it probably wasn't a good idea. Good God, it was hard to resist, though. If she had a weapon at her disposal she knew there'd be blood on her hands already.

"All's I can say is, you're lucky Jed ain't here," he told her now.

"Oh, yeah, and why's that?" she sneered back.

"Best if you don't know," he said, with an infuriating smile. "Let's just say he's got stronger opinions than I do."

She stared at him with revulsion. "I can't believe I was starting to think you were a normal person. It must have been the drugs."

"Sugar, I _am _a normal person. I'm about as normal as you get. Hardworking, love my mom, vote every election... I'm what this country's built on." He casually spit on the ground. "You're the one who's goin' to hell."

"I thought that's where I already was," she said, trying for scorn but not pulling it off very well, she knew. She felt like throwing up.

He started over toward the car door, preparing to leave. "Word of advice. You'd best be careful around here... because people won't put up with that fruity shit. Especially if you rub it in their faces."

"Oh, that's rich, coming from a guy who has a _dreamcatcher _hanging from his rearview mirror," she replied mockingly. "Tell me, how have _you _have not gotten your ass kicked yet?"

And oddly enough, this criticism seemed to ruffle him a little. "That's my girlfriend's," he said in a pointed way.

"Oh, really," she said with a smirk, not able to help herself. "Is her name Jed?"

But she regretted it instantly, because now he came back toward her, menacing, sheer hatred in his expression. She backed up a few steps but hit the chain link fence. There was no where else to go, and the entire parking lot was deserted. For perhaps the first time in her life, she wished that she was capable of keeping her damn mouth shut.

He stopped a few feet away and stared at her, and she watched him warily, hating the fact that he could see her fear. More than anything in the world, that was what she hated. He loomed over her for a few seconds, not touching her, and then seemed to force himself to turn back around. Noticing the bottle of Wild Turkey, which was still sitting on the hood of the car where she'd put it earlier, he picked it up and examined the label. He unscrewed the lid, took a long drink, and then chucked the entire bottle, hard, at her feet.

She cringed in spite of herself, the violent shattering of glass sounding appallingly loud in this empty parking lot. Whiskey splashed onto her legs and feet, and she felt a series of small, sharp stings all over her ankles and calves, like shaving cuts. She clenched her teeth together, forcing herself not to say anything, and stared at the ground, trying not to make eye contact.

Now he finally went back around to the driver's side, to her immense relief. Opening the door, he told her over the top of the car, "Why don't you go back to wherever the hell you came from, and take the other one with ya."

He got in, reversed and spun around, and she stepped away from the fence, now feeling a little bit of her familiar attitude return. Unable to keep herself from getting a parting shot in, she screamed after him, "Yeah you better leave! You don't even want to see what I'm packing!" But her voice cracked into a sob on the last words, and it sounded more like a plea than a threat.

To her horror, he backed up and pulled the car alongside her again, and for a second she thought she'd _really _screwed herself over now and would have to make a run for it. Where, though? To scrawny little Dustin, who she'd already pissed off?

But all the guy did was open his door and hurl her purse onto the ground at her feet - not as if he wanted to give it back to her, but as if he simply wanted to get it out of his car. It landed on its side in the puddle of bourbon, the contents spilling out everywhere.

And now he really left, tires squealing in his haste. Santana reflected, as if in a dream, that this was the second time she'd made a guy peel out of this gas station in a rage today. But could the two scenarios possibly be more different? She didn't even feel like the same person she'd been this afternoon.

Hearing the commotion, Dustin came out of the store and stood on the sidewalk, looking over at her. "_Now _what happened?" he asked, as if she was the bane of his existence.

She couldn't answer. After a minute he went back inside, and she stared down at the mess on the ground. Slowly, she sank down onto her knees. Trying to avoid the worst of the shattered glass, she pulled her purse toward her and began replacing the contents. The bottle of tequila was filthy, but unbroken. The batteries were all still wrapped, and she assumed they'd be okay, though she obviously didn't give a flying fuck at the moment.

Just out of reach, there was something flat and rectangle-shaped. She couldn't remember what it was. Leaning over, she pulled it to her and lifted it, angling it toward the faint light as whiskey dripped from its edges. It was the framed photograph, the one that Brittany had given her this morning. She stared down at it, noticing that the liquor had already begun to soak through into the picture. The bottoms of their white dresses were stained an ugly, faded brown color, and the stain was rising higher. She pressed the frame to her stomach, squeezing her eyes shut and trying not to lose it.

_Don't you dare_, she told herself. _Don't you fucking dare. Not here. Not like this. He's not worth it._

She took a series of deep, shaky breaths, waiting until she felt the emotion recede. She choked it down, burying it the way she buried everything else. It would stay there, waiting, she knew. It wouldn't go away, it would just lurk out of sight. But that was okay. It was better than nothing. Because she sure as hell couldn't handle it right now.

Gently, she used the bottom of her dress to wipe the whiskey off the photograph, drying it as well as she could. Then she put it back in her purse and stood up shakily. With all the dignity she could muster, she went back to the van.

She wasn't aware of exactly how she got back to the campsite. She just drove, and somehow, mercifully, ended up there. Looking back, she would have no memory of the drive itself. It was a miracle she didn't run off the road or get lost.

When she got out of the van she immediately noticed the quiet. The fire was lower now and popped intermittently, but there were no voices. Gerald sat in a lawn chair, as if he'd been waiting up for her, but his neck was tilted back, his mouth wide open in sleep. He even snored a little. Santana glanced around and saw the two younger girls' feet sticking out of their miniature pup tent. She vaguely wondered how long she'd been gone. Everyone seemed to have gone to bed. There was no sign of Brittany.

Trying not to make any sound, she pulled the packages of batteries out and wiped the liquor off with a dish towel. Then she put the towel in her purse, because how else would she explain? She laid the batteries gently on the table, keeping an eye on Gerald to make sure he didn't wake up. It occurred to her now that she'd forgotten the ice. As absurd as it was, she felt bad about it, on top of everything else.

Quietly, she climbed into her own tent. The dim campfire and the lantern near the table provided a faint illumination through the ceiling mesh, just enough to make out vague detail. Brittany was already there, lying on her side and facing away, apparently sound asleep. Santana zipped the flap up, halfway hoping it would wake her, but she didn't move. She knew from experience that Brittany slept like the dead. Or rather with the heavy, pure sleep of young children who have no regrets and nothing troubling their consciences. Especially when she'd been more active than usual, like she had today.

Feeling like she would shatter if she didn't hear her voice, she crossed the short distance and sat down next to her, resting her hand on her arm. "Brit?" she said softly. And then she didn't know what else to say. _I know you're mad at me, but I really need you right now. Please, please wake up. Please just talk to me. _She couldn't say any of that out loud. Right now, she couldn't. But she'd never felt more alone in her life.

Her hand on Brittany's arm rose and fell with her deep, peaceful breathing. She concentrated on the warmth, on the rhythm, trying to let it calm her down. And suddenly, out of nowhere, Santana was hit with a realization that made her own breathing stop short for a second, that made her feel like she'd been punched in the stomach. The realization was nothing more complicated than _It could have been her._

It could have been Brittany there tonight. If she'd gone instead. _She _could have been the one to hear that word. She could have been the one wondering why some stranger suddenly hated her. She could have been the one backed up against a fence, hoping she hadn't made the worst mistake of her life.

She jerked her hand away from Brittany's arm, as if the thought itself could be transmitted through her skin like poison. Horrified, she pulled herself backwards until she was up against the flimsy nylon wall of the tent. Her heart pounded and she felt like she couldn't get any air. All the panic that she'd managed to tamp down and ignore over the last hour threatened to come at her now and overwhelm her.

With shaking hands, she dug through her purse and pulled out the bottle of tequila. Using the hem of her dress to grip the slimy neck of it, she unscrewed the cap and in the same motion raised it to her lips and drank a deep, choked gulp. She grimaced at the awful taste, but it also came as a relief. She drank again, feeling the strong alcohol travel in a warm path down her throat and into her middle, radiating outward in calming waves. One more swallow. Almost immediately, she felt her breathing slow down, the panic receding like a river that had breached its banks and then gradually retreated.

She sat there, staring at Brittany's sleeping form through scalding tears that threatened to fall if she would only let them. But she didn't let them. Eventually she put the bottle away, tucking it deep into her purse and covering it with the ruined dish towel. Then she slowly moved back over to Brittany.

Kicking her shoes off and pulling the filthy dress over her head at the same time, she lay down next to her in just her underwear. Putting anything else on seemed like too much effort at the moment. She pressed herself up against Brittany's back, trying to steal some of her warmth, needing to feel her physical presence even if she was asleep for it.

But even without fully waking up, Brittany seemed to sense her need, because she stirred and then turned around onto her other side, flinging her arm over Santana and pulling her close. She did all this without ever opening her eyes, and immediately seemed to fall back into a deeper sleep.

Santana froze for a second, but then let herself relax, more grateful than she could possibly express. Despite her efforts, a tear slid sideways down her cheek onto the pillow. Brittany's face was just inches from hers, and she stared at her in the dim light. Her hair was unbraided and wavy, cascading over her shoulders and now over Santana's as well. Her lips smelled like marshmallows. Wanting to kiss her, but not wanting to wake her up, she settled for touching her lips delicately to the hollow of her throat, where she could feel the reassuring, steady rhythm of her heartbeat. With a tiny smile, she noticed that Brit had worn the necklace to bed.

Pressing herself as close as she could possibly get into the warmth of Brittany's body, she shut her eyes, knowing she probably wouldn't sleep. For now, it was enough just to lie here in her arms. She wished the two of them could stay this way forever, and that everyone else in the world would simply disappear.


	6. Chapter 6

**A few notes:**

***There's a vague reference in this chapter to the Rachel/Santana one-shot I wrote before this fic, since I decided to keep those events "canon" in this one. It's not necessary to read it, though. I just wanted to explain so that the mention didn't seem to come out of nowhere. All you really need to know is that Santana came out to Rachel on the last day of school and they had an actual conversation.**

***In my head, Brittany's older sister Lindsey is played by Kristen Bell. I needed to picture someone who I thought Santana might believably have a crush on, and for whatever reason, that's who I kept coming back to.**

***And again, because I can't say it enough, thank you _so _much to everyone who reviews. I'm spending a ridiculous amount of time writing this - it's a bit like being possessed. I admit I had way too much fun writing this chapter. I promise loads of Brittany/Santana quality time in the next one!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 6<strong>

Birds were singing, but it still seemed dark. Santana squinted up through the ceiling mesh of the tent, past the thick green foliage, where she could see that the sky was a pearly gray color. She'd only managed to fall asleep about an hour ago, she estimated. But now she was awake again, and at first she thought it was the birds who were responsible. This was why trees were bad, because they gave the damn birds someplace to park themselves while they interfered with people's much-needed rest. She should have brought ear plugs.

But then she noticed the more likely reason she'd woken up, and it was that Brittany was gone. She seemed to have been gone for a while, actually, judging by the coolness of her sleeping bag. Santana sat up, and then closed her eyes against momentary dizziness. Her head had that light, buzzy feeling that comes from not getting enough sleep. She threw on some shorts and a tank top and then stuck her feet into a pair of Brittany's flip flops - she didn't think she'd be able to walk in any of her own ill-advised footwear this morning. For the first time she could remember, she didn't care what she looked like.

Outside in the campground, she could hear sounds of stirring from within the other two tents, but no one was visible yet. Grateful, since she had no desire to make small talk with them, especially after last night, she hurried toward the latrine before anyone spotted her. But Brittany wasn't there, as she'd expected her to be. Where was she, then? Out making more secret phone calls to her cat?

Bypassing the campground, she walked along the edge of the woods, looking down toward the lake. This early in the morning, a heavy mist rose up off the water, obscuring most detail. But... what was that? Was someone sitting down there? Santana stopped and tried to figure out what exactly she was looking at. Then the breeze shifted a little, parting the fog, and she could see that it was in fact Brittany, sitting cross-legged on the rocky ledge they'd sunbathed on yesterday. And she appeared to be holding a fishing pole.

Unable to help herself, Santana smiled a little. She looked around and located something approximating a path, then gingerly picked her way down to the water. "Hey," she said as she approached. "You get any bites yet?"

Brittany turned her head, happy to see her. "There's not really a hook on it," she said a little self-consciously. "I don't want to hurt any fish."

Santana nodded. In Brittany's world, fishing without a hook was a perfectly valid activity. She stood back behind her, looking out at the mist-covered lake. The sky was just beginning to turn pink as the sun rose. It would have been beautiful, if she was in any mood at all to appreciate it.

"I'm sorry I was asleep when you got back last night," Brittany told her.

"It's okay." She didn't want to talk about last night. She didn't even want to think about it.

"I tried so hard to stay awake, so we could talk. I ate extra marshmallows, for the sugar. Then I pinched myself all over. And when that didn't work, I even counted sheep."

"Actually, Brit," Santana began, as if she were trying to break the news to her gently. She moved up to stand beside her. "I think counting sheep is what you're supposed to do when you're _trying _to go to sleep."

Brittany shook her head, saying emphatically, "Not _these _sheep. You don't know 'em."

She laughed a little. "Oh."

"_Santana_," Brittany now said with alarm, turning all the way to the side. The expression on her face darkened with worry. "What happened to your legs?" As she said this she let go of the fishing pole and it clattered down the ledge and splashed, unheeded, into the water.

"What?" She looked down to where Brittany was staring in horror. _Oh, shit._ How had she not noticed this before? All over her calves and ankles were tiny cuts from the shattered glass of the whiskey bottle. From a few of them, blood had trickled down and then dried, leaving reddish-brown trails on her skin. She looked away from it, suddenly feeling sick.

Brittany stood up. She was watching her, waiting for an explanation.

"It's nothing," Santana said, making an extreme effort to sound casual and slightly embarrassed. "When I got back last night, I wasn't tired yet. So... I decided to shave my legs. You know, in case you changed your mind about the hanky-panky."

"In the dark?" Brittany looked at her in disbelief. "That's crazy. Even I wouldn't do that."

"Yeah, well... it seemed like a good idea at the time." She avoided eye contact, knowing that if Brittany kept looking at her like that, she would crack and tell her everything. And she just couldn't do it. Not yet.

Brittany was too good at reading her, though. "Is something going on?" she asked now, still giving her a searching gaze.

"_No_." Now she met her eyes, begging her to let it go. "But could you go get the first aid kit? Please?" she added, when Brit hesitated.

Finally, she turned to go, but not as if she was content to let the matter drop. "Yeah. I'll be right back."

Santana watched as she receded into the fog, heading back up toward the campsite, and then exhaled heavily, closing her eyes for a second. _Get your ass under control, _she instructed herself. _You're not gonna ruin this for her. She deserves to have a great weekend. If you ever tell her about what happened, it's not going to be here._

To distract herself, she grabbed a stick and used it to pull the fishing pole back up from where it floated a few feet below in the water. She didn't want Brittany to get in trouble for losing it. Although, to be honest, it was hard to picture Gerald and Bunny being mad about much of anything.

Brittany returned, carrying the small white plastic box with the Red Cross insignia on the front of it. Santana remembered seeing it on previous camping trips, but as far as she could recall, this was the first time it had needed to be used. Leave it to her to inaugurate a brand new, shitty tradition.

She held her hand out, since Brit seemed reluctant to hand it over.

"I'll do it," Brittany told her.

"That's okay. I can do it myself."

"Santana," she said, firmly. "_Sit down_."

She raised her eyebrows a little, but then did as she was told. It was a tone of voice that she didn't feel like messing with.

Brittany sat beside her and dug through the box, locating antiseptic and band-aids. Her hair still hung loose and wavy, and it fell over her face as she leaned forward, obscuring her vision. Santana pushed it back behind her ear for her in a practiced motion. But somehow the intimacy of the gesture felt too raw at the moment. She wished she'd checked the impulse.

"Your hair's getting long," she remarked, trying for casualness.

"I want you to trim it for me before school starts," Brittany said, glancing up. "The lady at the salon scares me. Last time I went, she told me that my improper use of the curling iron means that I'll probably be bald before I'm thirty. I just don't need that kind of stress in my life right now."

Santana smiled. "I'll do it today if you want."

Soaking a gauze pad with peroxide, Brittany began to dab it onto the cuts, working from the top down. Santana prayed that there weren't any slivers of glass in there. How would she explain that?

"Does it sting?" Brittany asked, noticing her wince.

"A little." She waited, grimacing, then added, "Okay, a lot."

"You're such a baby." Brittany looked mildly amused, but also as if she found this cute. "Here. My mom used to do this." Leaning forward, she blew gently on the cuts that had already received antiseptic.

To Santana's surprise, the soft stream of cool air reduced the sting. She watched Brittany, grateful at least for the excuse to be so close to her. She noticed that just from their few hours in the sun yesterday, she had a smattering of very faint freckles over her nose and cheeks. She knew from past experience that they would fade as summer turned into fall, but they were adorable while they lasted.

"You're gonna make a great mom, you know." Then, hearing these words out loud, she felt her face heat up. She rolled her eyes, saying, "God, I can't believe I just said that. That was so lame."

Brittany glanced up at her, a little wistful. "No it wasn't." She dabbed on more peroxide, moving toward the left ankle, and then added without much conviction, "You'd make a good mom too."

Santana laughed a little. "You're a bad liar, Brittany."

"You just need practice."

"Well, if I can survive this whole weekend without stabbing that Bianca kid, I think I could handle just about anything."

Smiling a little, she finished up with the peroxide, not neglecting to blow on the last cuts to reduce the sting.

Santana watched her, thoughtful. "I'm really sorry about yesterday. All that stuff I said... I don't know what I was thinking. I just go loco when I think about losing you before we even..." she trailed off. "Anyway, I'm sorry."

Now Brittany began applying band-aids to the worst of the cuts. After doing the first one, she paused and stared at Santana as if she were proud of her. "Thanks. That's all I wanted you to say, you know."

Santana took a few seconds to process this. So _that _was what she'd been waiting for last night. "Why didn't you just tell me that?"

Brittany seemed to find this funny, but also somehow endearing. She shook her head just a tiny bit, in a _You are so hopeless_ gesture. After a second, she said as she unwrapped another band-aid, "You're not completely crazy, though. Quinn _has _been calling me a lot."

_Wait, what? _ Santana suppressed her _I knew it! _reaction, with a massive effort of willpower.

"But it's just because she's lonely, and she didn't have anyone else to talk to this summer. Mercedes went on vacation with her family, and... she's not really close with anyone else. She doesn't even have a cat. It's so sad."

"I know that," Santana said, shrugging slightly in an attempt at off-handedness. "I feel terrible for her." Okay, so that wasn't true at all. But sometimes she had to settle for simply imitating what she thought a decent person would say.

Luckily, before Brittany could sense the insincerity of these words, Gerald's voice came booming down from the woods. "Girls! We're leaving in ten minutes, okay? You better come and get something to eat before the munchkins hoard it all!"

"Okay, Dad!" she yelled back.

"_Leaving_?" Santana looked at her, trying to figure out what was going on. Had she somehow been wrong about the length of the trip? Could they possibly be going back home?

"We're hiking the Hope Furnace trail today. I told you, remember?"

"Oh, right." _Damn it._ "I forgot."

"Santana." Brittany examined her face, sensing opposition. "You're coming, right?"

"It's just... " she hedged. "I didn't bring the right kind of shoes for hiking."

"I knew you wouldn't. So I brought an extra pair for you."

She considered for a second, feeling bad. "That's sweet. But... I hardly slept at all last night. I feel like a zombie. And besides..." she added, going for the pity card. "My ankles are all messed up."

Brittany looked down at the band-aids. She couldn't exactly argue with that. Without more than a few seconds of hesitation, she seemed to come to a decision. "Then I'm staying here with you."

"No, Brittany." She suddenly felt a lump in her throat, and she swallowed against it, hard. _Don't you even think about crying. _"Look, I'm probably just gonna sleep. There's no reason for you to stay. I know how much you love these stupid hikes... and all that godawful nature stuff. I'm not gonna let you miss it just because of me."

Brittany stared at her, searching her face. She seemed to be trying to figure out whether she was telling the truth, and if she wasn't, whether it would still be better to let her have her way regardless. "Are you sure?"

"Absolutely." She made her voice firm. "I'll be fine. If I can't sleep, I'll read the magazines I brought."

Brittany sighed, giving in. "Well, tonight my parents are taking the canoe and going on their _private _fishing trip." She gave Santana a pointed look. "So, after the girls are asleep, we'll have the whole place to ourselves. We can talk, and..." She trailed off with a shrug.

Santana was more intrigued than she wanted to admit by this open-ended "and." And what? But at the same time, the prospect of talking was a little terrifying. What did she want to talk about? Why did they always have to _talk_? She was afraid if she started, she'd end up losing control and spilling everything.

"Yeah," she said, nodding a little. "That sounds great."

Glancing toward the campsite, where Ariel could now be heard in the distance making vague but impatient noises to hurry everyone along, Brittany said, "I guess I'll go on up." She still seemed reluctant, but she turned to go.

"Hey." Santana stopped her. "Don't pick up any snakes, okay? In fact, don't pick up anything that's alive. If it has a pulse, you keep your pretty little mitts off of it, you hear me?"

Brittany turned back to smile at her. "I promise." Then her expression grew pensive, and as if having a quick debate with herself and deciding to act before she changed her mind, she moved toward Santana and kissed her.

Caught off guard at first, she eventually let herself close her eyes and give into it, lifting her hands up to the sides of Brittany's face, kissing her back. The entire world disappeared. She felt the tips of their tongues touch, delicately, and her knees went weak. But at the same time it was so tender and loving, not quite like anything she'd ever experienced before. Heat melted through her, but this too felt different, so much more than purely physical. Especially after what she'd gone through last night. It was like something in her had needed this more than she'd ever needed anything in her life. And somehow, Brit had known it. She always knew.

As Brittany reluctantly pulled away from her, Santana raised up just a little on her toes, wanting to make it last as long as she could, lingering on her bottom lip. As crazy as it sounded, she couldn't recall if they'd ever done this standing up before. Usually when they made out, it was on a bed, and it was part of warming up to the main act. They had so rarely just _kissed _each other, not this way. It was like a revelation. Apparently this is what it felt like to kiss someone you know you're in love with. Jesus Christ, no wonder people made such a big deal about it.

Santana opened her eyes, finally remembering to breathe, and looked up at Brittany with a slightly dazed, questioning, _What was that for_? expression. Brittany stared back into her eyes with a tiny smile, telling her without words that there didn't need to be a reason. The beams of the just-risen sun poured over her, turning her hair a coppery color.

Then, all of a sudden, Santana seemed to come back to her senses and remember where she was. Because the world hadn't disappeared after all. It was still very much present. She glanced nervously up at the woods, in the direction of the campsite. The mist had started to burn off, but it was still heavy enough to obscure most detail. Or at least she hoped so.

Seeing the direction of her gaze, Brittany's face immediately registered disappointment. "Don't worry," she said softly, sounding not angry but simply resigned. "Nobody saw."

"Brittany..." she began, feeling guilty. But she didn't know what else to say. _ I don't care if anybody saw_? That would be a lie, and she would know it was a lie.

"It's okay."

And the way she said it, Santana believed her. Maybe that was the worst part. To her, it really was okay. And it probably shouldn't be. _I don't deserve you, _she thought, not for the first time.

"We'll be back this afternoon. Try to get some sleep," Brittany said as she headed up the path into the woods. Looking back, she added, "You can borrow my sheep if you want to. Clearly they're no good to me anymore."

Santana watched her go, at war with herself, part of her wanting to just fling her instincts aside and go on the ridiculous hike. It would make Brittany so happy. It wasn't too late. But she didn't move.

After a few minutes she heard their voices fade away, and then it was too late to change her mind.

* * *

><p>Back in the campsite, she forced herself to eat a cold pop tart, trying not to gag on it. She washed it down with one of Bianca's special chocolate milks. Not because she liked chocolate milk, but because it would drive the kid insane trying to figure out why one was missing.<p>

The clearing was eerily quiet without anyone in it. She stood by the doused, still-smoking campfire, listening. There were no sounds from the lake or from any other campsites. Maybe it was too early. She couldn't remember ever being in a place this quiet and lonely.

She went back into the tent and made herself lie down. If she was honest, she didn't actually think she'd be able to sleep. She just hadn't wanted Brittany to have to miss the hike in order to keep her company. And she knew that just having her here would be too much of a temptation to let herself break down these still fragile emotional walls she'd erected around her fears. Those walls needed time to harden and become more secure.

Lying on her back, she flipped through a magazine. It was one of her favorites, but she couldn't seem to keep her mind on it. Somehow, knowing which boots were hot for fall didn't seem particularly relevant to her life right now. She'd never thought there'd be a day when that was the case.

She let her eyes fall shut for a second, since it was hopeless anyway and she knew she wouldn't sleep.

But then she opened them again, because that music was so annoying.

_Love is but a song we sing_

_fears' the way we die_

_You can make the mountains ring_

_or make the angels cry_

She made an irritated face. "Who's singing that?" Sitting up, she realized that she was wearing her black dress from the Nationals competition. Which was strange, because she didn't even remember bringing it, but it didn't seem worth thinking about.

The tent had changed color. It was hot pink now, and looked like the inside of somebody's backpack. She struggled with the zipper, but then she realized the zipper was only a decoy, because there was a latch on the inside of the tent flap like a car door. She pulled it, and the flap opened outward. But the opening seemed tiny, like a rabbit hole.

Taking a deep breath, she climbed through the doorway, trying not to rip her dress, and then stood up and stared around the campground. It was full of people. But not just any people, she saw, looking closer. New Directions. They were ranged around the clearing, some of them by the campfire, some a few yards away from it, most of them singing that ridiculous song while Puck and Artie played guitars.

_Come on people now_

_Smile on your brother_

_Everybody get together_

_Try to love one another right now_

She shook her head at the cheesiness of it all. And why the hell were they even _here_?

Then she noticed a banner hanging from the trees, the letters painted on in glitter and accentuated with gold stars.

**Lake Hope Show Choir Extravaganza, Copyright 1996**

_But I don't even remember rehearsing for that,_ she thought to herself. _Mr. Shue is such a shitty teacher._

It didn't seem all that important, though. What seemed important, more than anything, was finding Brittany. Because she didn't seem to be in the clearing with all the others. Where was she? Santana felt like she should know the answer, but she couldn't quite remember it. The urge to find her was overpowering. She needed to see her, right now.

But then she was distracted from her thoughts by an irritating tapping sound. Looking over to her right, she saw that where Gerald and Bunny's tent had been, there was now a tiny stage. Bianca was on it, wearing a ballet tutu, doing a clumsy dance. And Rachel seemed to be coaching her.

"Chin up!" she instructed her in a loud voice. "Always remember that there's an inverse ratio between how much your tap shoes pinch and how much you need to smile. Memorize this little rhyme - No pain, no trophies."

"That doesn't rhyme," Bianca said.

"Don't argue with me!"

Santana walked over to them slowly. "Berry, what the hell are you doing?"

"Oh, hello Santana," she said distractedly. "Bianca and I were just rehearsing our number for your coming out party. I know it may be a while, but good performances require time. Take five," she told the girl.

Then she took Santana's arm and led her away from the stage a little, gesturing wildly with her hand as she described. "I thought we'd do a medley; first a show tune, nothing _too _on the nose, because that might come off as ironic... and you know how I feel about irony. Then we'll transition into a ballad where everyone sings along, and you cry a little because you realize we actually care about you. Then we'll end with something jaunty and upbeat, maybe... Randy Newman, I haven't decided yet. Oh and then of course a big finish with balloons and sparklers in the shape of a rainbow!" She stopped and smiled expectantly.

"What?" Santana asked, horrified. "No... I don't _want _any of that. And besides..." she glanced around the campground and lowered her voice. "I thought I told you to keep your yap shut about this."

"Oh, her?" Rachel asked, looking at Bianca. "I didn't have to tell her, I think she already knew. She's very wise for her age. Much like me when I was a child."

Bianca nodded. "It's true, I am."

Santana rolled her eyes. "Oh _please_." She didn't have time for this. "Look, do you know where Brittany is?"

"No," Rachel said, and then a slightly worried look crossed her face. "Gosh, I hope she didn't find out about those messages you sent me."

"What are you talking about?"

"Oh, nothing really. It's just that last year when you got home from my party I received a series of very inappropriate drunk texts. At first I thought it was the alcohol that was making me hallucinate, but... I didn't even know some of those words."

Simultaneously, Santana thought _There's no way in hell_, but also _Oh shit, I kinda remember that._

"What did they say?" she asked, alarmed.

"I'd rather not go into the specifics," Rachel said evasively. "Suffice it to say that I was terrified at first, but then... strangely flattered."

Mortified, Santana checked to make sure no one had overheard this. She had to remember to make Brittany hide her phone the next time she was drinking. With a low, threatening voice, she said, "You better not tell anybody about this, Gidget. Or I will sever your vocal cords with my fingernails."

Rachel examined her hands skeptically, thinking this over. "Santana, do you really think your nails are long enough for that?" But then, off the expression on her face, she smiled and amended this to, "Duly noted." As Santana walked away, she went back to coaching Bianca. "Five six seven eight! Good... Now smile!"

The irritating noise of Rachel's voice faded away behind her as she approached the campfire. Puckerman had at some point ditched his guitar, and was now lifting weights. "Sup, chica," he said, lifting his chin at her. "Just workin' on my guns." He pivoted his hand around in a circle, gripping what looked like a five-pound iron weight, and then transferred it to his left hand and gripped his right hand into a fist. "My lady likes me to have super strong wrists."

Santana made a grossed-out face. "_Wanky_."

She took a few steps further and discovered that _Tina _was now strumming an acoustic guitar, and doing a surprisingly good job at it. Santana looked down at her, puzzled. "I didn't know you could play the guitar."

"Neither did I," she said, staring down at her fingers with confusion. She looked up at Santana. "So much about me is still a mystery." Mike patted her on the back consolingly.

Santana tried to think how to reply to this in a way that wasn't insulting, but she was distracted by a rhythmic thumping sound. She looked over to her left and noticed Artie, methodically ramming his wheelchair into one of the large stones placed around the perimeter of the campfire. He looked depressed.

She went over to him and crouched down. "Artie, hey. Have you seen Brittany?"

"No, I haven't seen Brittany," he said in a pointed way, obviously annoyed with her. "I _never _see Brittany anymore, thanks to you."

"Oh, spare me the pity party, it's not my fault you called her stupid." She sniffed, looking around. "What's that smell?"

He made his voice sound exaggeratedly pathetic. "Somebody slushied me earlier, and I'm pretty sure the cup had gasoline in it."

"That's horrible." Santana avoided making eye contact, keeping her voice innocent. "Who would do something like that?"

Artie continued to stare at her with melancholy accusation.

"Santana!" someone shouted. She stood up and turned around to find Mercedes charging at her like a raging bull. "Girl, I know you haven't been _stealing my shoes_. I don't even want to have to get in the ring with you again, because I will break you like a twig."

"Whoa, how 'bout you take the drama down a notch, Mo'Nique, because I don't even think we wear the same size. I mean no offense, but you have man feet."

"Then what the hell are these?" She held up the platform clogs with the gold straps, putting her hand on her hip and raising her eyebrows.

With a straight face, Santana told her, "I've never seen those before in my life."

Suddenly Finn ran into the clearing, out of breath and looking even more dopey than usual. "Guys! Um, we've got a little problem. I was just going out in the woods to..." He paused, looking shifty. "Meditate."

"Right hand or left?" Santana asked him.

"Right," he said quickly. "Wait, what?" He looked confused, then shook it off and went on. "Anyway, I heard this weird noise, like somebody left a chainsaw on, so I went to investigate and... It's bad." He waited a beat. "Lauren's wedged in the latrine. She can't get out."

"Aw, man," Puck said, looking guilty. "She _has _been gone a while. I thought she was just taking an extra long crap."

"Does anybody have a crowbar?" Finn asked.

"I've got one," said Sam, stepping forward with a cartoonishly large bar of metal.

Santana glanced to the side at him. "Where did _you _come from?"

"I've been here the whole time," he told her. "You just didn't notice me. Like usual."

"Oh."

"Let's go!" Finn said, sounding like a he was leading a rescue posse on some cheesy kids' TV show. The boys took off down the path, followed by Mercedes and Tina pushing Artie's wheelchair over the uneven ground, nearly tipping him over in their haste.

Rachel was standing on the stage, lecturing the departing club in a loud voice, "Everybody stay calm! After all, we want to look dignified and professional when we're on the evening news following what is sure to be a dramatic rescue." She smoothed her hair down, then pointed her finger and commanded, "Bianca, grab those sparklers!" Then the two of them took off with the rest of the group.

Santana took a few steps after them, not because she wanted to help, but because the prospect of Zizes getting pried from an outhouse with a crowbar sounded too hilarious to be missed. But then she stopped, remembering there was something else she was supposed to be doing. What was it? Oh yeah, Brittany. Find Brittany.

She retraced her steps back to the campsite, and now became aware of Blaine and Kurt, over at the portable table with their backs to her. They appeared to be making hamburgers. She approached them, taking note of Blaine's ridiculously elaborate uniform blazer. _Why is there a freaking Warbler here anyway?_

He turned to her with a debonair smile. "I'm everywhere now. You'd better get used to me."

She gave him a funny look, thinking _Did I say that out loud?_

"No," he told her.

"Santana," Kurt said in a chipper voice. "Just the person I wanted to see. We need a woman's opinion."

She squeezed between them and looked down at the table. They weren't making hamburgers after all, she now realized, they were making... _hats_. Tiny, fancy hats. The table was piled with them. "What is this?" she asked.

"They're raccoon fedoras," Kurt said, as if it should be obvious. "Apparently they're all the rage for the fall season." He lifted one that was made of felt and had a feather sticking out of it, modeling it on his own head. "I call this one Robin Hood Chic. What do you think?"

"It's good, Kurt. Really good," she said, not wanting to hurt his feelings. "Listen, I'm trying to find Brittany, and none of these losers have seen her."

"Oh," he said, looking back down at the hats, compressing his lips. "So you haven't heard."

"Heard what?"

He acted as if he didn't want to say. "Quinn took her to look for seashells."

"_Seashells_," Santana repeated. "But this is a lake."

Kurt looked amused. "Yes, but.. it _is _Brittany we're talking about."

"That's true," Blaine said, as he looked at Kurt and laughed.

"Oh shut up Hogwarts, you don't even know her," Santana told him, pissed.

"Speak of the she-devils," Kurt said, angling his chin toward the slope down to the lake. "There they are now."

Santana moved out from behind the table and over to the tree line to get a closer look. She stared in shock at the water's edge, where Quinn and Brittany were ambling along, both of them squeezed underneath one giant beach towel. _I was right_, she told herself. _I fucking knew it. _ _This is so typical._

Suddenly, Quinn lifted her hand high above her head, and Santana could see something glinting in the sunlight, something turquoise and red. It was Brittany's necklace, the one she'd bought her in Puerto Rico. Quinn gave a tiny jump as she hurled the thing out into the water as far as she could. "Go get it!" she told Brittany excitedly.

Brittany frowned, looking reluctant, but then waded out into the water and swam toward the necklace.

"Good girl!" Quinn said. She patted her knees like she was calling a dog. "Now bring it back!"

_That bitch_, Santana thought, outraged. _How dare she make Brittany fetch?_

But now she noticed something farther out in the water, a speck that had gradually grown larger and was moving toward Brittany. It was a canoe. A canoe with two men in it.

She felt her stomach clench in fear. "No," she whispered to herself. "Oh God, no."

One of the men, the skinny one that she recognized all too well, was leaning over the edge. She could hear his voice clearly, even though he was much too far away for that. "You need some help there? Come on in, girl, we got room for more!"

"Brittany, don't!" she shouted. But she didn't seem to hear her. She began to swim toward the canoe, as if grateful for a ride.

Santana frantically fought her way through brush and weeds to get down to the water's edge. She felt like she was moving through syrup. "Brittany!" she yelled again. She looked over at Quinn, distraught. "This is all your fault! Help me, damn it!"

Quinn was standing with her arms crossed, looking unconcerned and a trifle pitying. "You can't protect her, you know. You can't even protect yourself."

Santana looked back out over the water. The canoe was just a few feet from Brittany now, and the guy was reaching his hand out, preparing to pull her in. Santana started to wade out, desperate to stop her, but then she remembered what a terrible swimmer she was. She turned around and ran back up toward the campsite, the distance seeming to stretch out and recede before her. Somebody had to help. For God's sake, wouldn't _somebody _help her?

"Kurt!" she yelled.

But he was gone. So was Blaine.

In fact, the table itself wasn't there. There was nothing in the clearing at all. No stage. No tents. No campfire. It was empty, as if no one had ever been there.

She stood there, utterly alone, feeling her breathing become labored and panicky. It sounded like a jet liner in her ears. Otherwise the campsite was silent. Even the birds had stopped singing. _What do I do? _she asked herself. _What the hell do I do?_

And then... from out of nowhere...

_There you rest_

_With all the rest_

_Of my accessories_

_On my nightstand._

She glanced around in all directions, bewildered. Where was that music coming from? "Rachel?" she called out. She would be glad to see any familiar face right now. Anyone at all.

_You're red or yellow_

_and like a good fellow_

_Sometimes you get lost in my mess_

She closed her eyes to concentrate, trying to pinpoint the location.

But when she opened them, she was inside her tent, staring at the ceiling. She took a deep breath and let it out, immensely relieved. It wasn't real. It wasn't real, which meant that Brittany was fine. It had all been a dream. Still, it took a few seconds for her heart rate to return to normal. _I knew it wasn't real, _she lied to herself_. I knew it was a dream the whole time. There's no way Mercedes knows I took those shoes. _She forced herself not to think about the last part of the dream, about what it meant.

That stupid _song_, though. It was still playing. What the hell?

_But when schoolgirl pigtails won't do_

_and I need to control my do_

Baffled, she poked her head out of the tent. The music had a tinny quality and sounded recorded. Santana followed it over to the table where they'd played Monopoly the night before. Crouching down, she saw Brittany's phone lying on the ground underneath a canvas lawn chair.

_You're the only one I can count on_

_My headband..._

_You're my headband..._

"Oh, Brit," she muttered to herself, making a face. "Is this seriously your ring tone?"

She picked it up and hesitated, not knowing whether to answer it or not. From the phone now came Brittany's voice, saying, "Sing it again."

"I have to get to class, Brittany!"

"Just one more time."

Then a distinctively dramatic Rachel Berry sigh, followed by...

_There you rest_

_With all the rest_

That settled it. Santana couldn't listen to another round. She glanced at the screen, but the number was listed as unavailable. She turned it on, hoping that it wasn't that damn cat somehow calling Brittany back. Raising the phone to her ear, she listened without saying anything, halfway expecting to hear a meow.

But instead, someone spoke.

"Brittany? You there, sweetie?"

The voice was female, and familiar. Santana's eyes and mouth went wide with shock.

"Is that you, Fabray?" She stood up and felt ghetto swagger filter through her body like a drug. For the first time in days, she felt like herself again. This was exactly what she needed.

"Listen, I think you and me? ...needs to have ourselves a little pow-wow. I have three words for you. _Locker. Room. Shower_. Ring any bells, Princess?"

Silence on the other end. Santana nodded, _Mm-hm_. _That's what I thought._ Satisfied, she went on.

"Okay, so maybe you just want to be friends with Brittany, maybe you're lonely after losing your man to the oompa-loompa, _again_. Fine, I get that. And I'll tell you what, this year the three of us can all hang out like in days of yore and have ourselves a swell old time. But if you think you can sneak around and cozy up to Brit behind my back, then maybe our sordid little blast from the cheerleading past needs to get some press, and I'm talking Jewfro style. Because for some crazy reason I'm just not that good at keeping secrets when I'm all het up about losing my girl. Are we clear?" She waited, but there was no response. "Hello?"

"Who the hell is this?" The voice sounded not so much shocked as amused.

Puzzled, she said as if it should be obvious, "It's _Santana_." Damn, how many gay locker room trysts had Quinn had?

"Ahh, Lopez. So _you're _still around, huh? Still BFFs, soulmates, friends with benefits, all that goopy shiz?"

"Who's _this_?" she demanded, alarmed now.

"It's Lindsey."

Santana froze in horror, then sank down onto the cooler, closing her eyes in absolute mortification. Oh, no. No no no no. _What the fuck is wrong with me? WHY DO I KEEP DOING THIS? _She had a split second of hoping this was still part of the dream, that it wasn't real, but she knew she wasn't that lucky.

"Hi Lindsey." She attempted to sound normal, probably not succeeding very well. "I thought you were someone else."

"Yeah, I kinda gathered that." She waited, as if she were thinking. "Fabray's the one who got knocked up, right?"

"Right."

"Hm. Interesting." Then her voice turned brisk, already bored with this conversation. "Anyway, where's my sister?"

"She's..." Santana stopped. Where was Brittany again? The effects of her dream were still lingering, playing tricks with her memory. "They're all on a hike."

"A _hike_? You mean like for a disease or a tsunami or something?"

"No, a real hike. In the woods. We're at the stupid lake."

"Oh, God, is it Labor Day weekend already?" Lindsey sounded truly surprised. "You know what they say, time really flies when you're tranq darting zebras." She sighed heavily. "Well, this just frakking figures. The only time in six months I've been able to call, and no one's at home, my parents don't believe in cell phones, and Brittany can't seem to keep track of hers. I swear, I wish they'd just get Ariel one. She's the most responsible person in the family."

"Sorry," Santana told her. Now that she was getting over her initial humiliation, she was actually enjoying listening to Lindsey talk. It had been so long since she'd heard her voice. She felt her childhood crush reasserting itself.

"Well, that's that," she said with a tone of finality. "Tell 'em I called, I guess."

"Wait," Santana said. She didn't want her to hang up yet. Trying to think of a normal topic for small talk, she asked, "How's Africa?"

"It's great. It's pretty much the opposite of Lima in every way, which is exactly what I signed up for." Then she paused, and seemed to resign herself to returning the gesture. "How are things there? You still Head Cheerio?"

"No," Santana said with a roll of her eyes. Every time she thought about it she got pissed all over again. "But we're not even in Cheerios. Brittany and I both quit."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. We're... focusing on show choir now." Then she cringed, because she had never realized just how pathetic that sounded until this moment.

But Lindsey seemed to approve. "Well, good. I'm glad. You know what, I hope Sue Sylvester dies in a fiery plane crash. That woman is evil incarnate. Actually, scratch that... I hope she doesn't die. I hope the plane crashes and she gets stranded on some Andean mountaintop, and she has to eat her own legs _before _she dies."

Santana listened, impressed. She'd forgotten that Lindsey was kind of a bitch. It was probably why she'd always seen her as such a role model.

She went on. "You know, I still have nightmares about the time she tried to launch me onto the football field from a catapult... a _real _medieval catapult. And it was just recently that my colon finally healed from that master cleanse stuff she used to make us drink. Do you know what it's like to have diarrhea for seven years, Santana?"

"_No_," she said, making a horrified face. "God." But despite the weirdness of the revelation, she was also thinking, _Lindsey just said my name. She actually freaking said my name._

"Well, that's the Cheerios legacy. Be damn thankful you got out when you did."

"I thought you loved being in cheerleading," Santana told her.

"Nobody loves it," Lindsey said with conviction. "Not at McKinley. You just do it because it's what hot, popular girls are supposed to do. And it's what lets you stay on top."

"Yeah, well I'm pretty sure our days of being on top are over." She didn't elaborate that this, for her, was true for more reasons than just being out of Cheerios. "Whatever. I don't give a shit," she said, trying to sound worldly and sophisticated. "I'm ditching this Loserville as soon as I can, anyway. I'm moving to New York as soon as I graduate." She waited, a little surprised she'd said these words. The idea had only been half formed in her mind. But hearing it out loud made it sound so real, like something she could actually do.

"Rock on," Lindsey said. "I can see you there."

Emboldened by her support, Santana added, "I'll probably be a singer or something. Not the lame Broadway kind, but like... a real singer. Maybe I'll perform in clubs to start with... I'm not gonna take my dad's money anymore. Britts and I can manage on our own. I mean, the tips I'll get from sheer sex appeal alone would probably pay the rent."

Lindsey was quiet for a minute. "You think Brittany will go with you?"

"Well, yeah." The unspoken implication was _Duh_.

"Has she said she would?"

"No, but... we haven't really talked about it yet."

"Don't take this the wrong way. It's just that... I can't really picture her in the big city. I think she'd feel lost there. She's a small-town girl. She wants to be where everybody knows her name... and they're always glad she came."

Santana made a confused face. "Isn't that the Cheers theme song?"

Lindsey sighed. "Yeah, it's like the only show we get over here. I've seen every episode about twelve times."

"Well, I think you're wrong about Brittany. She's braver than you think she is."

"Maybe you're right. I mean, look at me. You think everyone didn't think I was insane when I announced I was joining the Peace Corps and going to Africa? Head Cheerio Lindsey Pierce, handing out mosquito nets in the jungle? The Homecoming Queen, getting her hands dirty on a game preserve? Nobody thought I could do it."

Unable to help herself, Santana said, "I thought you lost Homecoming Queen to that Danish foreign exchange student."

Lindsey was quiet for a second, and when she answered she sounded annoyed. "There were some issues of voter fraud. The Danes are tricky, don't ever forget that. Look, the point is, I did it. I'm thousands of miles away from Ohio, and I love it. I'm thinking about signing up for another stint. You can do it too. You just need to get out of your comfort zone."

Santana thought about this. "I don't think I have a comfort zone."

"Then that makes it even easier to leave, doesn't it?" She paused. "The truth is, I never really felt like I fit in there. I love my family, they're the most amazing people in the world... but sometimes I felt like I must have been switched at birth. They're so mellow, you know? They're so happy with the world, just the way it is. I wish I could be like that, but I can't."

"I know what you mean," Santana told her. Truer words were never spoken.

"I didn't belong in Lima. And I don't think you belong there either." Then, in a philosophical voice, she added, "It's like Norm said to Sam in season 2, episode 14. 'Terrorists have taken over my stomach, Sam. And they're demanding beer.'"

Santana tried her best to make sense out of this, but then gave up. "I have no idea what that means."

"Yeah, me neither." Lindsey sounded morose. "I really miss HBO."

Santana was quiet for a minute. She wanted to tell her how much the encouragement meant to her, how the mere fact that even one other person knew about her plan and thought that she could pull it off made her feel like she actually had a shot. But she was so hopeless at thanking people.

"Anyway," Lindsey now said, in a tone of finality. "Tell my family I'm sorry I didn't get to talk to them. I wish I could be there. As much as I hate Ohio, I do miss the camping trip. It was the best part of the year. And give Brittany a kiss for me," she added. "No tongue, though. Do that on your own time."

Santana smiled. "Got it." She wasn't sure exactly how Lindsey knew, but to her surprise, she wasn't bothered by it. Maybe because she was on the other side of the world.

In the background, there now came a loud trumpeting sound, followed by someone, a man, speaking a foreign language in a placating tone. Then another, angrier trumpeting sound.

"Oh, boy," Lindsey said. "I gotta go. I'm about to help collect semen from an elephant."

Santana wrinkled her nose, thinking about this. Unable to resist, she asked, "_How_?"

"It's like the world's biggest hand job, you don't even want to know."

"Well..." she said, knowing she had to let her hang up now. "It was really good to talk to you." Lindsey probably had no idea how much she meant those words.

"_Yeah_," she said, in a tone of voice that indicated she was surprised that she agreed. "And hey, good luck with your little love triangle situation."

"It's not actually..." Santana began, but then gave up. What was the point? "Thanks."

She hung up and turned the phone off for good measure, just in case anyone else tried to call. She already feared she'd have My Headband stuck in her head for the remainder of the camping trip.

Still sitting on the cooler, she looked around the clearing. She didn't know how long she'd been asleep, but it seemed to be about noon. There were now vague noises coming from other parts of the park, happy sounds of people swimming and having fun, doing what you're supposed to do on a vacation. Santana stared at the van longingly. _What if I just took it and went home? _she thought. _Then I could pay someone to bring it back to them. Someone who has no life and nothing else to do. Like Mr. Shuester._

But thinking about driving the van brought back memories of last night, and she looked away from it, shuddering. She gave up her escape plans. It wasn't like she could really do it anyway. But she hated the fact that seemingly innocent thoughts (or at least innocent by her standards) were now tainted by that nightmarish scene at the gas station. How was she supposed to keep it buried when it kept popping back out at her?

Standing up, she decided to find something for lunch. She'd drink another one of Bianca's chocolate milks. That would make her feel better.

* * *

><p>At some point during the long and solitary afternoon, without even trying to, she must have fallen back asleep. Because when she woke up for the second time, Brittany was in the tent, sitting next to her. "Hey," she said quietly.<p>

Santana sat up, relieved to see her back. "Hi." Her voice sounded froggy with sleep.

And then, because she must have been sleeping very heavily this time and she couldn't quite seem to shake it off, she leaned her head forward onto Brittany's shoulder, pressing herself up against her. This day had been so weird. She had the sudden, overwhelming need to get her cuddle on. Since she wasn't awake enough to have her guard up yet, she simply went with the impulse.

Brittany wrapped her arms around her back, a little surprised, but pleased.

Murmuring almost incomprehensibly into her neck, Santana said, "I'm so glad you're back. Rachel wouldn't shut her trap... and I bitched out your sister for trying to steal you... and there were raccoon hats." She stopped, considering all this. "Part of that may have been a dream." She nuzzled into Brittany's skin, giving up on figuring it out for the time being. "How was your hike?"

"It was awesome," Brittany said. "I saw two lizards. I didn't pick 'em up, though, I swear."

"Good," Santana said. She seemed to be drifting back toward sleep.

"But I really wanted to. One of them had a mohawk."

"Of course it did." Still sounding groggy, Santana muttered against her shoulder, "Did they get Lauren out of the latrine?"

Brittany kept her arms around her, smoothing her hair down in the back. Over her shoulder, she made a perplexed, musing face as she thought about this. "I don't know what that means," she said finally. She kissed her on the cheek.

"But I think I need to make you some coffee."


	7. Chapter 7

**Sorry this update took a little longer to get out! I forgot about the July 4th holiday getting in the way. This one seems to be extra long, so I hope that makes up for it.**

**I don't really have too much to say about this chapter, other than I hope you enjoy it. Only one more left after this one, and I know I'll be sad to finish the fic. Also, because I can't say it enough, thank you from the bottom of my heart to everyone who reviews. You've made this such a fun experience. **

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 7<strong>

Santana stood with a cup of coffee in her hand, staring down toward the lake. Ariel and Bianca were swimming, shrieking in an obnoxious way every few seconds for no apparent reason. Gerald floated around them in an inner tube, wearing pink and green plaid swimming trunks and a sombrero, with a giant smear of sunblock on his nose. He ignored the shrill voices of the little girls, attempting to read an issue of Scientific American that was already drenched with water. Looking up, he noticed Santana and gave her a dorky salute.

She smiled just a bit and waved back, but then her smile faded. Something about the lake was bothering her, and she couldn't quite remember what it was. Something in the dream she'd had earlier. It had melted away from her memory with remarkable speed. All that was left was the aftertaste, so to speak, of dread. The only thing she could recall in any detail was that it had had something to do with Brittany, and that it had terrified her.

"Boo."

She jumped, coffee sloshing onto her wrist as somebody grabbed her from behind and wrapped their arms around her.

"_Brittany_. You shouldn't sneak up on somebody with a hot beverage in her hand."

"You've been carrying that around for twenty minutes, I doubt it's that hot anymore." To prove her point, she took the cup, sipped from it, made a face, and then tossed the dregs onto the ground. "Gross."

"That was my second cup, anyway. And thank you, by the way. I think I'm finally awake now."

"Good. Maybe you'll stop talking about how my sister called you."

"Brit, that really happened, it wasn't part of the dream," she insisted. "She _called_, okay? I talked to her for ten minutes, and it was freakin' amazing! We're like best friends now."

Brittany smiled in an infuriating way. "The important thing is that _you _believe that, Santana."

She shook her head, giving up for the time being. She had a feeling Brittany was just messing with her. Sometimes it was hard to tell.

"Do you want to go take a shower? I kinda need a break from my family."

Santana looked over at her. "That depends. Do you mean those skeevy showers near the playground that are made out of concrete?"

"Those are the only ones here."

"I have a better idea." Santana moved toward her a little, trying for her most enticing tone. "Why don't we go check into a hotel for a few hours, just the two of us. I'll pay."

Brittany seemed mildly interested, so she went on.

"We can use those tiny little bars of soap that you love." She looked up at her flirtatiously.

"I _do _love those tiny soaps," Brittany said. "They make me feel like a giant. But we can't just leave. You know we can't. It wouldn't be right."

She sighed. It had been worth a shot. "Yeah, I know." She considered for a second. "All right, fine. Let's use the showers here. But if we contract some kind of fungus, I'm holding you responsible."

They gathered up some supplies in a large canvas beach bag, then went to tell Brittany's mom where they were headed.

"That's fine, girls," Bunny said with a mellow smile. She was carrying a can of something secured in a foam cup holder, and Brittany sniffed at it suspiciously.

"Mom. Is that a _beer_? I thought you said that stuff was poison."

Bunny looked flustered. "Nobody's perfect, sweetheart. Go take your shower!"

Santana smiled a little as they walked away. She suddenly liked Brittany's mom even more than she already had.

It was a long walk to the shared campground area of the park, the section where less adventurous campers parked their motor homes and trailers within easy reach of bathrooms and electrical hook-ups. First they had to make a trek through the woods on a dirt road that hugged the edge of the lake. Santana's feet began to ache almost immediately, but she tried hard not to complain. She'd already heard enough this weekend about her poor choice of shoes.

"I have to tell you something," Brittany said, when they'd been walking for about ten minutes.

Santana looked at her, concerned. "What?"

Whatever it was, she was reluctant to say it. Finally she spoke again. "I lost a bet with Bianca on the hike earlier, and we have to trade tents with them tonight."

"_Brittany_!" Santana whined. "That thing is hardly even a tent. It's just a blanket on a stick."

"I know, I'm sorry. But she tricked me. How was I supposed to know that skunks don't really have French accents? I thought it was just common knowledge."

Santana rolled her eyes a little. Then, thinking about the implications of this in further depth, she asked, "Wait, did you talk to a skunk?"

"No," Brittany said with a quick sideways glance at her, clearly lying.

Eventually the path took a sharp turn away from the lake, opening up into a large commons area. A few kids chased each other in the small playground while their parents stood around cooking over barbecue grills, and radios and TVs blared from recreational vehicles. The sound of electronics made Santana homesick.

Heading toward the showers, they passed the open door of a small building that served as a lounge. It had a few coin-operated washers and dryers, an ice machine that charged exorbitant prices, and a couple of standard vending machines for snacks and cold drinks. Through the doorway, they could see an older man bent over at one of these machines. The front of it was standing open, and he appeared to be restocking the racks.

Santana and Brittany slowed, and then glanced at each other with mischievous, questioning smiles. Their looks seemed to say _You think we still got it?_

Turning their attention back to the man inside the lounge, they linked their pinkies and began to walk toward him, like lions closing in on their prey.

"Excuse me," Santana said when they'd reached him. He looked up, eyes wide open, taking in the two beautiful young women who'd suddenly materialized before him.

"Yes?"

"We have a little problem. Actually it's kind of a big problem."

He straightened up, waiting for them to go on.

"See, last night? My friend and I here pumped about twenty bucks of hard-earned dinero into this sad excuse for a vending machine. And we didn't get jack squat in return." Her voice dripped with barely-restrained bitchiness. "Nothing came out. Not even those vile pretzels on the bottom that have been in there since Clinton was president."

"Well..." the guy said. He didn't seem to be the sharpest knife in the drawer. "You-all sure you pushed the right buttons?"

"Of course we pushed the buttons!" Santana said. "What do you think?"

Brittany added, "I sprained my finger from pushing them so much."

Santana raised her eyebrows at him pointedly, as if to say, _See? She sprained her finger_. _Are you happy now?_

He continued to stare at them, dumbfounded. "Huh. I don't know what the problem could be." Then he scratched his head and looked at the machine, as if maybe it would tell him. "I can give you gals your money back, I guess."

"We don't want our money back, Grandpa Walton, we just want our food. We needs to get our snack on. _Bad_."

"We're so hungry," Brittany said in a sad monotone, looking at the floor. "We haven't eaten in days."

Now the man seemed somewhat alarmed. "Well, go ahead, go ahead!" he urged them, stepping out of the way. "Take what you paid for. I don't own the dang thing, I just work for the company that does."

Santana gave him a condescending smile as they stepped up to the machine. They immediately began pulling food from the racks.

"You had one of these, right?"

"Yeah I think I had two of these. Maybe three."

They grabbed candy bars, bags of potato chips, jumbo cookies, packages of doughnuts, and even the previously spurned pretzels. They ignored the man watching them until they were finished, when Santana deigned to notice him again.

"Thanks. And honestly, you should get this thing fixed. It's a crying shame to think of all the poor campers who've been forced to leave this room hungry."

"People could starve to death," Brittany threw in.

Santana nodded at her, muttering, "That's so true."

The man was speechless for a few seconds. Finally he said, "I'll look into it."

The two of them walked away, clutching their loot, and traded sly smiles with each other. _Oh yeah. We still got it._

* * *

><p>The building housing the showers was empty. Brittany walked in and tossed their bag onto a bench, then looked back at the doorway, where Santana was lingering, hesitant.<p>

"Come _on_. It's not that bad."

"There's a sign warning people to wear shoes at all times, Brit. How can it not be that bad?"

"Well, I'm taking this one." Brittany went into a stall on the end, and her clothes were immediately tossed out and landed on the bench next to the bag. She pulled the curtain closed and Santana heard the water start.

Sighing, she glanced around with disgust and forced herself to go in. She changed out of her clothes and wrapped a towel around herself, and then switched to a pair of flip flops, being extremely careful not to let her feet touch the floor, even for a second. God only knew what was on it.

She took the stall next to Brittany's, hanging the towel over the edge. The water was mercifully hot and the shower pressure was strong, and she had to admit, in spite of her reservations, it felt wonderful. She closed her eyes and leaned forward into the stream, letting it pour down over her, washing away some of the anxiety and weirdness of these last twenty-four hours.

Then she felt a sudden draft of cooler air as her curtain was pulled open. She spun around, hands covering her breasts, startled.

"Can I borrow your shampoo? I brought my dad's by mistake, and it smells like boys."

"Brittany." She pulled her in and yanked the curtain closed, even though there was still nobody else in the building. She looked at Brit's chest, and then quickly away, awkward. _Are they getting bigger? _"We can't just walk around naked in front of each other anymore," she told her.

"Why not? We always do."

"I know, but... things are different now. It's like..." She tried to think of an analogy. "You wouldn't go shopping if you don't have any money to spend, right? I mean _I _would, because I shoplift. But most people wouldn't. It's no fun looking at something you can't have. It just makes you frustrated and miserable."

Brittany considered this. "Is this like in English class where you're talking about one thing but it means something else? Because I found that whole unit very confusing."

"Never mind," Santana said, shaking her head. "Here's the shampoo."

But then she heard voices. She clutched Brittany's arm, preventing her from leaving. "Wait."

Cracking the curtain's edge just a tiny bit, she peered out into the locker room area. There were about five women of various ages, all of them wearing long skirts and with their hair in buns, like they belonged to some particularly conservative religious denomination. They were carrying their own shower bags. "Oh that's just perfect," she muttered to herself. Now they would have to wait them out. If those people knew there were two girls in here, together... she didn't even want to think about their horrified reactions.

"You know what, you'd better just stay here," she told Brittany quietly.

"Okay... then, can you wash my hair? I like the way you do it. It's like a massage on my head."

"Fine. Just... keep your voice down, okay?"

Brittany couldn't resist teasing her. "But... what if I start moaning, like that lady in the Herbal Essences commercial?"

"Don't you _dare_. I will kill you." But she was smiling as she said it. She squeezed out a generous portion of shampoo into her palm. "Tilt your head back, so my arms don't get tired. Are you ever gonna stop getting taller?"

"I think you're just getting shorter."

Santana laughed a little, working the shampoo slowly through Brittany's hair. She tried her hardest not to glance down at her ass, but it wasn't easy. And she'd forgotten how strangely erotic this act was, how it felt like the prelude to something else. Brittany seemed to think so too, because she had her eyes closed, and she looked as if she'd momentarily forgotten where she was.

When she was finished they switched places and Brittany did the same for her. She took her time, massaging her scalp like a professional, and Santana began to feel the effects on more than just her head. This had probably been a bad idea. It certainly didn't help that they were both naked. Alarmed, she reached out and turned the temperature of the water down until it ran cool. Brittany seemed to find this amusing, but she didn't say anything.

Finally, they had stalled for time as much as they could. Santana turned the water off and cautiously peeked through the gap in the curtain again. _Shit._ Not only were the women not gone, but now there were even more, at least eight, with some of them already in the other three shower stalls and the others apparently waiting their turn.

"Damn it, how many of them are there?" she whispered. "It's like Big Love out there."

Brittany peered over her shoulder. "I think it would be fun to have sister wives."

Santana gave her a strange look. "They don't get to sleep with each other, Brit. Only with the guy."

"Oh." Brittany thought about this for a second. "Then never mind, it wouldn't be that fun."

They waited some more. Santana knew they should just go out there and get dressed. They had as much right to be here as anybody, and there was no rule against sharing a shower. But she couldn't. It was the same old fear, the same old shame. Brittany seemed to understand, and didn't press her. She stood next to her, waiting patiently.

But after a few more minutes she noticed that Brittany had goosebumps. "Where's your towel?" she asked her.

She looked sheepish. "Out there. In the bag."

Santana gave her an exasperated look, but didn't say anything about it. After all, it was her fault they were still standing here. She held out the end of her own towel. It was a beach towel, luckily, and huge - just big enough for them both to squeeze under and still be able to cover everything. As Brittany wrapped it around herself, now standing pressed up against her, Santana had a sudden memory flash of something in her dream from earlier. _Quinn_. Quinn and Brittany under a towel. She brushed the image aside, not wanting to think about it, or what it had led to.

They waited some more, but the women showed no signs of leaving. They were sitting on the benches and chatting amiably, like they were in for the long haul. One of them was even knitting. _Oh come on_, Santana thought.

They couldn't just stand here forever. Eventually someone would want to know why the stall was occupied if the water wasn't running. She looked at Brittany, who was watching her with an expression of sympathy.

"All right, this is ridiculous," Santana said. She took a deep breath. "Come on." With a hand that shook just a tiny bit, she pulled the curtain open. All the women looked up.

Avoiding eye contact, Santana pulled Brittany along with her, clutching the towel with a desperate grip to keep it wrapped around them. At their beach bag, she gave Brittany her own towel and immediately began getting dressed, trying her best to ignore the shocked silence and the hostile stares now directed at them from the rest of the room.

Brittany, of course, tried to win them all over. "Hi," she said, to no one in particular. There was no response. Then, to a younger woman with a baby on her lap, she said, "I like your skirt." The woman, or girl, rather, clutched the baby more tightly against her and glanced at an older woman, possibly her mother. She looked back at Brittany again, but didn't answer.

Brittany raised her eyebrows at Santana a little, as if to say _Tough crowd_.

Santana thrust her bra and underwear at her. "Get dressed," she hissed.

They both finished dressing in silence. Santana looked mortified. She didn't bother to brush her hair out or even dry it with the towel. She just wanted to get her clothes on and get out of here as fast as possible. They gathered up their things and headed toward the exit, followed by eight sets of supremely judgmental eyes.

Just on the verge of going through the door, however, Santana seemed to reconsider. _No. Uh-uh. These bitches aren't worth it. _A wave of anger rolled through her, and she turned around, holding her head up, her gaze flashing attitude at them. She addressed the entire room when she spoke.

"You know, I just want to say that staring at people? Is _super _trashy. I mean, even if you are fresh off the compound... learn some manners, ladies. That way when you go back to Elk Snout, you can teach the youngins' how civilization works."

Brittany watched her, looking proud. Then she turned to the room and made her own announcement, in a perfectly calm, deadpan manner.

"And I just want to say that... I don't really like your skirt. I was just trying to be nice." Then she glanced toward the shower stall they'd emerged from. "And also, we totally had sex in there." She nodded casually, adding at the same time, "Deal with it."

"_Brittany_!" Santana said in a half-gasp, half-laugh as she brought her hand up to her mouth in shock. She grabbed her arm and pulled her out of the doorway as the women continued to stare after them, open-mouthed. They hurried down the path out of the campground area.

It wasn't until they were back in the woods and halfway to their own campsite that they were able to stop laughing.

* * *

><p>"You missed a spot," Bianca said, taking a giant bite out of a Snickers bar. A Snickers bar that she hadn't even <em>earned<em>, Santana thought with annoyance.

She ran the comb through Brittany's damp hair and evened out the ends of it, snipping off the piece that hung down just a little too long. "Did I ask for your help, Smurfette?"

"No, but you need it."

She made an effort to ignore her, moving over to the other side. She was trying to take advantage of the last of the daylight. It was rapidly getting dark, and Gerald and Bunny had already left for their private evening out on the lake. This meant that the little girls were now their responsibility, which made them even more of a hassle to deal with.

"Will you cut my hair, too?" Ariel asked.

"I'll do it!" Bianca volunteered.

"No you won't," Brittany told her, shaking her head.

"Brittany, don't shake your head!" Santana said, grasping the sides of her face to hold her still.

Bianca walked around Brittany, examining her with narrowed eyes, like she was looking at a statue in an art gallery. "I think you made one side shorter than the other."

Santana exhaled loudly. "You know, there's a lot more you can do with scissors besides just cutting hair. Have you ever seen any of the Saw movies?"

"_Santana_," Brittany said in a warning voice.

She looked at both of the little girls, trying to keep her temper. "Scram," she told them. "Go play in your new tent. You only get it for one night, so you better enjoy it while you can."

They looked at each other, and then reluctantly did as they were told. Brittany watched them go, relieved. "They've been driving me crazy all day. On the hike this morning, they spent almost an hour debating whether their combined name should be Bariel or Arianca."

Santana rolled her eyes. "That's stupid," she muttered. She took a few more snips of hair, then added, as if she couldn't help herself. "Arianca, obviously."

"I know, right?" Brittany agreed. "Bariel just sounds creepy."

"Hold your head still. You're gonna look so amazing when I'm finished with this."

Brittany looked pleased. "Maybe we should invite our boyfriends over."

"What do you mean?" she asked with a questioning smile.

"You know, those guys. From the canoe. I saw 'em today on the trail."

Santana felt a slight jolt pass through her, and she lowered her arm. She swallowed, because her throat was suddenly dry. "Are you sure?" she asked, trying hard to sound unconcerned. "Because I think those guys left." She added, "I mean, all these rednecks pretty much look the same, right?"

Brittany shrugged a little, not all that interested. "I guess so."

Santana was quiet. She felt sick, even though she knew she was being stupid and melodramatic. Those guys were gone. Brittany couldn't have seen them. It must have been someone else. And even if they were still here, even if they'd come back, it had nothing to do with her. They probably wanted a run-in with her even _less _than she wanted one with them. She recalled the disgust on the face of the guy at the gas station, the way he'd tossed her purse out of his car as if it had been capable of transmitting some kind of disease. They wanted nothing to do with her.

But still. Just the thought that they might be here, somewhere close... It was enough to dispel the good mood she'd been in for the last few hours. And now she would have to work to keep everybody from noticing.

She hurried through the rest of Brittany's trim, knowing she wasn't doing a very good job. Her hands felt numb. "There," she finally said, forcing a smile. "I'll look over it again tomorrow, when it's light, just in case I screwed it up."

"I'm sure it's fine," Brittany told her. "Thank you."

Santana turned away from her gaze, not trusting herself. "I guess we'd better feed the rugrats."

She busied herself, helping Brittany fix dinner. It was nothing more complicated than hot dogs roasted over the fire, but she tried to make it as elaborate as possible, using the task to keep her mind off of other things. While searching for plates, she noticed, mixed in with the box of kitchen utensils, a pocket knife. It was the kind that opened out into a fairly substantial three-inch blade. Without even thinking, she checked to make sure Brittany wasn't looking, and then slipped it into her jeans pocket. It just felt better to have it there.

They called the girls out of the tent and the four of them sat at the portable table. Everyone seemed to enjoy the food, but Santana only pretended to eat. Her appetite had evaporated.

After dinner, she and Brittany cleaned up. Then they agreed, without much enthusiasm, to play another board game with Ariel and Bianca. This time, the younger girls decided on Life. Santana didn't bother to protest, even though she liked this one, if possible, even less than Monopoly. And she wasn't at all surprised to find that her luck at the game was abysmal. She kept landing on spaces like You're Fired and Mid-Life Crisis.

Bianca watched her, confused. "How come you're not cheating?"

"Because life sucks, and this just proves it," she told her. "The sooner you accept that, the better off you'll be."

Finally, it grew late enough that they could send the girls to bed without having to feel guilty about it. The little brats had the nice digs, anyway. Santana had no idea how she and Brittany were going to sleep in the tiny pup tent that was clearly meant for children. But right now she wasn't too concerned about it.

In the quiet of the clearing, Brittany threw some more wood onto the campfire, building it up again. She took out the package of marshmallows and stuck one onto a long tuning fork. "You want one?"

"No, I'm good." Santana sat down against a cushion that somebody had left next to the fire. Across the top of it in faded puff paint were the words _Girl Scout Troop 432, Lindsey Pierce, 1998_. Thinking about Lindsey, about their conversation earlier, gave her a little surge of confidence.

She watched Brittany holding the fork over the flames.

"There's something I need to tell you," she suddenly said, surprising herself.

"Okay." The marshmallow caught on fire, and she lifted it carefully up toward her. Santana watched as she held it up just in front of her face, waiting until it had burned to ashes. Tilting her chin up, she pursed her lips and slowly blew out the flames. The motion was adorable, and beautiful, and something about it broke Santana's heart.

Brittany looked over at her. "What is it?"

"Um..." she stared down at her lap. Nope. She couldn't do it. Not tonight. Not when she looked like that. She frantically tried to think of something else, something that would make sense with the opening she'd already used. She hit on an idea and grasped at it, relieved. "Rachel knows."

"Knows what?" Brittany looked puzzled. She popped the marshmallow into her mouth.

"About _us_," Santana clarified. She looked back up at her. "And that I'm... you know." She paused, saying the last word in a lower voice and with a covert glance around the clearing, even though she knew it was empty. "_Gay_."

Brittany settled back against a log almost directly across from Santana, on the other side of the fire. She tucked a pillow behind her and pulled a giant quilt up around her knees. They'd had to evacuate all their stuff from their tent so that the younger girls could move in. "But _how_?" she asked. "How did she find out?"

"I may have told her," Santana hedged, sounding embarrassed.

Off of Brittany's incredulous look, she added, "I know, I _know_. I'm still not sure how it happened. I think she must have used her troll magic on me, or something. It was the last day of school, and I was so pissed at myself. I guess I just needed to spill it to somebody. It probably would have been the janitor if he'd come in first."

"Mr. Kidney is a really good listener. You'd be surprised."

"Yeah, well," Santana said, not wanting to get into that. "Rachel got there first. And she was actually pretty cool about it. I mean, for _her_." She stopped, thinking for a second. "But I just realized how obnoxious she's gonna be this year. She's gonna think we're friends, isn't she? Every time somebody mentions gay stuff, she's gonna give me _meaningful looks_. Oh God..." Santana made a face. "What the hell have I done?"

"I like Rachel," Brittany said, prepping another marshmallow. "I can't help it. She's like a Disney character, only she's real and not a cartoon."

"I guess I could always just pretend it didn't happen," Santana went on, as if she hadn't heard her. "Make her think she imagined the whole thing. One time my mom caught me making out with the meter reader, and I convinced her that she just took too much Ambien and she was sleepwalking. I have a talent for it."

Brittany pulled her second marshmallow out of the fire, letting this one burn to even more of a crisp than the first one had. "I don't think you should do that."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm glad she knows. I want everyone to know."

Santana sighed. When she answered, she sounded tired. "I know you do, Brit."

"I want us to be able to sit together in Glee club again, and not have to pretend that we're just friends. I want us to be able to go to the mall and hold hands, and get one of those root beer floats with two straws in it."

"I want all that stuff too," she told her. "You know I do. But..." She tried to think of the best way to phrase what she wanted to say. "I just don't think you realize how much things are going to change. For both of us."

Brittany wiped marshmallow goo off of her mouth with the edge of the blanket. "But everybody loves me."

She said these words with such simplicity that Santana wanted to shake her.

"Everybody loves _straight _Brittany Pierce," she said, leaning forward for emphasis. "They're not all gonna love gay Brittany Pierce. You have to understand that. And you can call yourself bisexual, or bicurious, or whatever other label you want to slap on it. But if you're dating me? If I'm your _girlfriend_? Then you're gay, Brittany. As far as the world is concerned, you're a great big lesbo just like I am. They're not gonna care about the fine print!"

Brittany seemed a little taken aback. "Why are you yelling at me?"

She looked away, feeling bad, and then tried to speak in a calmer voice. "I'm not yelling."

"It's just... you sound mad."

She was quiet for a second. "I'm not mad at _you_," she said, chastened. _At the rest of the shitty world, maybe, but never at you._

"Don't you think maybe you're making it into something scarier than it really is? Things at school aren't that bad anymore."

"No, I don't think I am," she said forcefully. "I mean, I know Dave is pretty much neutralized these days... thanks mostly to my badassness," she added as an aside. "But there's always gonna be another Karofsky. Those guys are like toxic mold, they always pop back up. And outside of school, it's even worse." She tried to think of an example, something that would actually hit home. "You know those guys at the mall... those tweakers who always hang out by the south entrance?"

Brittany thought for a second. "The ones who wear flannel and smell like cold sore medicine?"

"Yeah, them." She went on. "Well, this past spring, when Kurt was shopping for an Easter hat? They chased him into Old Navy and he had to hide himself in the women's cabana dresses. For an _hour_."

Brittany was silent. Santana couldn't tell what her reaction was. Her face was impassive.

"You see? And just because we're girls, it doesn't mean we're automatically protected from all of that stuff. Don't you ever watch the news?

"No," Brittany said with a grimace. "The news is depressing. I don't even know what channel it's on."

Santana sighed again, frustrated. She didn't feel like she was getting anywhere.

"I don't know what you want me to say, Santana," Brittany said. Now _she _sounded angry. "I know there are bad people out there. But if someone wants to hurt me just for being who I am, there's nothing I can do about it. And besides, I know tons of good hiding places in the mall."

Santana started to speak, then stopped, then tried again. Her voice was low in an attempt to sound reasonable. "It's just that if anything ever happened to you... I would never forgive myself."

Brittany shook her head a little, looking at her like she was crazy. "It wouldn't be your fault."

"But it would feel like it." She said these words barely above a whisper, and she could tell that Brittany at least respected the emotion behind them, even if she couldn't bring herself to agree. They watched each other warily for a few seconds, then both looked away.

Santana felt even worse than she had before. Why had she said all that stuff? Why tonight? Now things were strained, and who knew how long it would last. This is why people shouldn't _talk_, she thought to herself. Especially when they could be having sex instead.

For a long time neither of them said anything. They listened to Ariel and Bianca playing Barbies inside their tent, using flashlights. Now that they were quiet, they could just make out the vague details of the little girls' conversation. Bianca seemed to be annoyed that there wasn't a Ken doll, and Ariel was trying to explain that she'd never had one.

"Should I tell them to go to sleep?" Brittany asked.

"Don't worry," she told her. "They should pass out soon. I found some cough syrup in the first aid kit, and I slipped about half the bottle into their grape pop earlier. They didn't notice."

"Santana! You drugged a couple of eight-year-olds?"

"Well, it sounds bad when you say it _that _way," she conceded.

Eventually, as she'd expected, the girls' voices began to sound woozy, and then tapered off.

"Hey," Santana said, as if she'd just thought of something. She wanted to make Brittany smile. "Remember when we used to have our girl Barbies make out?"

It worked. Brittany nodded at the memory, looking happy. "And yours always had to be on top."

Santana smirked a little, giving a tiny shrug that clearly said Well, _yeah_.

Brittany stared into the fire, perplexed. She seemed to be trying to think of something. "I don't know what ever happened to my Ken doll. I used to think he ran off with Polly Pocket, which is so kinky, because she's not even his scale. But then I found her in one of the air conditioning vents last year, and she hadn't seen him. It's like he just disappeared."

At this, Santana bit her lip a little, making a comically guilty face. She didn't say anything.

It wasn't possible to hide it from Brit, though. She noticed, immediately intrigued. "What?"

She started to say, but then changed her mind. "Nothing."

"_Santana_."

"Okay. You promise you won't be mad?"

"Of course."

She rolled her eyes a little, embarrassed. "One day when you went downstairs to feed your cat... we were probably about ten or eleven..." She hesitated, then said quickly. "I opened the window and threw your Ken doll onto the neighbor's roof."

Laughing in disbelief, Brittany said, "Why?"

"I don't know!" Santana made a face. "Something about him pissed me off. He was so useless. We just didn't need him around."

Brittany laughed some more, but at least she appeared to find the whole thing endearing.

Santana seemed to be putting two and two together, shaking her head a little at herself. "Guess I should have seen that as a sign or something, huh?"

For a while Brittany didn't say anything. She watched Santana from across the fire, her smile slowly fading into a rapt, emotional expression, full of love.

"What?" Santana asked, noticing the way she was staring at her.

She waited a beat before answering. "You just look really beautiful right now."

She blinked, and looked down at her lap, overcome by too many feelings that suddenly threatened to well up. Then she gave Brittany a tiny, grateful smile. She wanted to tell her that she looked beautiful too, but she didn't trust herself to speak.

"Will you come over here and sit by me?" Brittany asked.

Santana considered. "I don't know, Brit. What if your parents come back?"

"They won't be back for hours. They're not _really _fishing, you know."

"Yeah, I kinda figured that." She gestured over toward the table, where the equipment was strewn. "They didn't even take the poles."

Brittany held up one end of her blanket in an inviting manner. "I'll protect you from the raccoons."

"Why, did you see one?" Santana glanced behind her nervously.

Shrugging, Brittany told her in a matter-of-fact tone, "You never know where they'll turn up. They're like ninjas."

She continued peering around the campground for a few seconds, but then conceded in a small, worried voice. "Okay."

Brittany smiled with muted triumph as Santana crossed over to her.

She sank down by her side, and Brittany pulled the quilt up and tucked it around them. It seemed to remind them both at the same time of being squeezed under the towel in the shower building earlier, and they looked at each other with amusement. The expressions on those women's faces would never stop being funny.

Brittany readjusted the pillow behind her back a little so that Santana could lean on it too. For a while they sat and watched the flames, quiet. The sound from the little girls' tent had stopped completely, and the flashlights were dark. Finally, they were asleep.

It was warmer on this side of the fire, especially with the blanket. Santana felt a touch of drowsiness steal over her. Even though she'd slept during the day, and had had two cups of coffee this afternoon, she was having a hard time staying alert.

"You sure you don't want a marshmallow?" Brittany asked her.

"I'm sure," she said against her shoulder. Then she pressed her lips softly to the spot just below Brittany's ear, to gauge her reaction. She'd thought of the perfect way to stay awake.

"_Santana_."

"What?" she asked innocently, brushing a lock of Brittany's hair back away from her neck and then leaning forward to kiss the bared skin. She was gratified to see chill bumps raise up along her flesh.

"Do you hear that?"

She ignored her, pulling softly with her lips, letting her tongue just delicately make contact with the skin of Brittany's throat. But suddenly she raised her head up. She did hear something. "What is that?"

They both listened, and the far-off rumble grew louder. It was a motor. A car engine, to be more precise. In the distance, down the dirt road that ran past the campsite, they could now see headlights approaching.

Santana pulled away from Brittany, her body stiffening up. She watched the vehicle come closer, her pupils dilated in fear. She tried to make out the type of car it was, the size, the make and model, but it was too dark and it was still too far away.

Brittany seemed to notice her discomfort. "It's just somebody leaving."

"At night?" Santana asked. Her mouth was dry.

"Sometimes people have to," she said with a shrug. "One year, we had to leave at 3:00 in the morning because I threw up all over Lindsey."

Santana didn't answer. She was still watching the car as it crept toward their campsite. It was moving slow... unnaturally slow. Why would anybody be driving at that pace, if it wasn't to mess with someone?

Then, to her horror, it stopped almost directly across from them. It was still in the woods, still on the unpaved road, but it was as close to the two of them as it could get without pulling in behind the van.

In the dim light of the campfire, Santana could almost make out the style of the vehicle. And she thought she recognized it. She thought she recognized it all too well. _This isn't happening_, she thought to herself. _This isn't really happening. You're dreaming again._

But she wasn't. The headlights remained on, bright, as if to prevent anyone from seeing into the car. Brittany shaded her eyes, trying to figure out what was going on. "Maybe they're lost." She started to stand up, and Santana clutched her arm in panic.

"No. You stay here."

Brittany looked at her, surprised. "Santana, you watch too many scary movies."

The car remained where it was, the engine idling. Nobody got out of it. Other than the faint noise of country music coming from the interior, there was no sound. Santana stared through the windshield, even though she couldn't see anything from here. Slowly she put one hand into her pocket and clutched the knife she'd stolen earlier. She put her finger on the clasp, ready to open it.

Because if he came near them, if he came near Brittany, she would stab him in the throat. She would do it, without a second's hesitation. If he took one step out of the car, she would be on him before he could even open his mouth, she swore to God. She tried to convey all this with her expression, even though she knew that most likely all she was conveying was sheer terror.

After what seemed like hours, but what was probably no more than two minutes, the car very gradually began to move again. It crept so slow that Santana at first thought maybe she was imagining it. But then she heard the tires crunch on the gravel of the dirt road. It was moving, headed down the trail toward the main road out of the campsite.

She felt like she was barely breathing, waiting for it to be out of sight. The tail lights glowed red in the distance. And now... now that she saw the back of the car, she wasn't so sure after all. Maybe it wasn't the same one. Maybe it wasn't the same kind of car at all. She wasn't sure about anything anymore, other than her own fear. She still clutched the pocket knife so tightly that her hand ached.

Finally, after what felt like an interminable wait, the tail lights disappeared completely. She listened, and thought she could just make out the sound of the engine revving louder as it picked up speed on the paved road leading out of the park.

Forcing herself to unclench her fingers, she let go of the knife and pulled her hand out of her pocket. She felt tears stinging her eyes, and she bit her lip hard, trying to prevent them. _Stop it. You're being ridiculous. _

Brittany was watching her, alarmed. "What is going _on _with you?"

She shook her head a little, trying to brush it off, but her face crumpled with emotion. She brought a hand up to her face, trying to obscure her features.

Brittany pulled the hand away. "_Tell me_."

Santana looked straight into her eyes. Her vision was distorted by tears, and she hated herself for it. She was doing exactly what she had tried so hard to avoid doing. She was scaring the hell out of Brittany.

She opened her mouth to tell her not to worry. Or maybe to tell her what happened, to just say it, to get the poison out of herself. Because it probably wasn't even as bad as she thought it was. Saying it out loud, maybe she would discover that it wasn't that big of a deal after all. She knew she had to tell her at some point. Why not now?

In any case, though, no words came out. Nothing. She continued to stare at Brittany, their faces just inches away in the firelight. Then, without even knowing she was going to do it, she leaned forward and kissed her. Brittany gave into it without hesitation, as if somehow, the kiss itself would suffice for an answer. They lingered on each others' lips, devoting a finicky attention to detail that they hadn't had time for earlier today. The kiss began as something slow, almost chaste, but then very quickly built into something more. Santana inhaled sharply through her nose, her heartbeat quickening. She rose up on her knees, which made her just a little taller, still without breaking the kiss.

But after a few seconds she forced herself to pull away, leaning her forehead against Brittany's, her eyes shut against the tears that still continued to fall, to her dismay. Brittany stroked the sides of her face, then leaned back and gave her a look of such loving concern that Santana wasn't afraid to ask what she knew she shouldn't ask.

"Please," she whispered. "_Please_. Just for tonight."

Then she made her voice even quieter, the words barely making any sound at all. But even if they'd been silent, Brittany would have known what they were. "_I need you_."

Brittany continued to regard her seriously for a few seconds, brushing a tear away with her thumb. Then she answered her with another kiss, this one building to a passionate peak even faster than the first one had. Santana gave a tiny whimper against her lips, a sound of thankfulness, or hunger, or despair, or some complex mingling of the three that she couldn't even begin to untangle.

She broke away to trail kisses down Brittany's neck to her collarbone, a desperate edge to her motions. Her hands were shaking.

"The tent," Brittany whispered distractedly.

Santana glanced at it without raising her head up, but decided against it. Not only was it too far away, it was too small. Too small to contain what she felt right now. Instead, she grabbed the edge of the quilt and pulled it up and all the way over their heads. It caught on one of the severed limbs sticking out from the log Brittany leaned on, which held it just a few inches above their heads. Instantly they were enveloped in warm darkness, their own private cocoon.

Now she tugged the bottom of Brittany's shirt up, frantic to feel her, to run her hands and her lips over her breasts. Surprised, she discovered that she wasn't wearing a bra, even though she'd seen her put one on earlier. Santana smiled a little, even through her emotion. Brit had _so _known this was going to happen. How was she always one step ahead?

As she tasted her, nipping at her just a little with her teeth, Brittany leaned back further against the log, tangling her hands in Santana's hair and yanking her head back when she bit too hard. In response, Santana plunged her hand down past the waistband of Brittany's sweat pants and into her underwear. She knew she was moving too fast. But there was a desperate edge to the way she felt right now. She couldn't slow down, even if she'd wanted to.

Brittany gasped with shock as she pushed her fingers inside her, a little too harshly, maybe. But Santana was gratified to note that she was ready. Oh, she was definitely ready.

"Wait," Brittany muttered, but not with much conviction. Santana kissed her again, bending her back against the log as she thrust in and out of her. She couldn't wait. She wanted to, but she couldn't. She didn't understand why she felt this sense of urgency, but there was no fighting it. And now Brittany's hips were moving, belying her request.

She lost track of time, her body continuing to do all the right things as if on auto-pilot. She'd wanted this for so long. She couldn't even remember how long it had been since she'd last touched her this way, since she'd felt this liquid heat between them, since she'd last heard Brittany's panting and quiet moans against her ear like this. The familiarity of her body, the way it was so similar to her own but yet so tantalizingly different... it was just as intoxicating as it had always been. More so, even. She wanted to savor every second of this, but at the same time she was afraid that if she lingered too long, something would break inside of her. She drove herself on, the warm darkness under the quilt becoming almost suffocating, but in a good way.

She was brought back to her senses when Brittany suddenly arched up against her, breaking their kiss as her muscles clamped down powerfully around Santana's hand. As often happened with her, there was a little warning before she went over the edge. She buried her face against Santana's neck, trying to stifle the sound she made, the sound that never failed to make Santana's own muscles clench just a little in response, yearning toward her, as if their connection was almost powerful enough to let them feel the same thing at the same time. It was a sound that was so adult, so sexual, so _un-Brittany_. She may have been innocent about many things, but this was sure as hell not one of them.

And Santana knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that no boy had ever coaxed that sound out of her. Just like she knew no boy had ever inspired this heat in herself, this otherworldly flame that coiled out from her center to the tips of her fingers and toes, making her breath catch in her throat and her vision grow fuzzy with the intensity of it. These were things that were reserved only for each other, and always had been. There was not a boy on this planet who could make them feel the way they could make each other feel. Santana may not have been certain about much in her life at the moment, but that was one thing she knew with absolute confidence.

Brittany took a few seconds to recover, catching her breath. She still leaned back, half-reclining, against the cushion that was now crushed between her and the log. Her hair was mussed around her face, damp with sweat. So much for the shower earlier. Then she grasped Santana's hips and pulled her closer. She obliged, climbing onto her lap and straddling her. But then, after another deep kiss, she pulled away slightly. She put her hands on top of Brittany's, which had begun to creep up underneath her shirt, stilling them.

"It's okay," she murmured. What she meant was _You don't have to. I'm good_. That wasn't true, of course. She was aching, literally aching, for Brittany's touch. But she was afraid. Because it suddenly occurred to her that this was the first time since they'd said those words. Those three little words that made everything different. She felt vulnerable in a way that she'd never been before in her life. What if it was all too much? How did this even work, when it wasn't just physical?

She'd heard cheesy bullshit about love her entire life; the fairy tales, the stupid movies, the tired old phrases. She'd never believed a word of it. But now she knew that it was real. All of it was real. Maybe not for everybody, maybe there were those who lived their entire lives and never had it, never had any reason to believe in it. But for her, it was as real as anything she'd ever known. As real as the color of her skin, as real as the blue of Brittany's eyes. It was something between them so tangible that it seemed a miracle other people couldn't see it at a glance.

It was real, and it was terrifying, and it changed everything.

But Brittany wasn't about to be persuaded by her tepid protest. Not a chance. She grasped Santana's wrists and firmly pulled them up around her own neck, kissing her at the same time and using her tongue as a powerful tool of distraction. Then she returned to what she'd been doing.

Santana felt her shirt being lifted up, her strapless bra being yanked down, felt Brittany's nails raking along her skin, followed by her lips as she ducked her head down. _Oh my God_, she thought, her back instinctively arching a little without her consent to press her chest forward. Brittany used her teeth, in retaliation for earlier, but Santana didn't pull away. She wished she would bite harder. Even with the sauna-like heat underneath the quilt, she broke into chills.

Slowly, with deliberate leisure, Brittany allowed her hands to trail back down, first along the taut muscles of her stomach, then with even more excruciating slowness lingering at the waistband of her jeans. Santana attempted to unbutton them for her, but her hands were pushed away again. She could feel more than see Brittany's grin in the dark. _She's doing this on purpose._

Unfastening the button and then the zipper herself, Brittany took her time, kissing along Santana's jaw line while her hand stayed on the outside of her extremely damp underwear, stroking as lightly as she possibly could. It was like the touch of a feather. Santana gritted her teeth together with frustration. She knew that this was her payback for being in such a hurry_. _

Just when she thought she couldn't take another second of it, Brittany shoved her underwear aside. But even now she only let her fingertips tease delicately, up and down the smoothness of her skin, barely even making contact. Santana rocked her hips forward, but she retreated, just out of reach. She didn't think she could get much more worked up and still keep her sanity. Brit had never made her wait this long before. Santana Lopez was known for many things, but patience was not one of them.

"Brittany," she pleaded in a strangled voice. _Don't make me beg_. She would, she knew. If this torture kept up much longer, she would.

Finally, as if taking pity on her, Brittany gave her what she wanted. But at the same time that her fingers sank upward as far as they could go, she leaned forward and pressed her lips softly, sweetly, against the hollow of Santana's throat, where her pulse beat. The kiss reminded her of the one she herself had placed on Brittany's throat last night, when she'd been asleep, and the two conflicting sensations at one and the same instant nearly made her swoon. So, yes, that answered her question. This _was _different when you were in love.

Choosing to focus on the more pressing need at the moment, she grabbed Brittany's wrist and forced her hand against her as hard as she could, hard enough to be painful for both of them. She was so, so close already. It wouldn't take much.

Brittany obliged by increasing her rhythm, her thumb still on the outside moving in practiced circles, and Santana ground her hips against her in increasing feverishness. Brittany rocked back against her, aiding her motions. Her breathing was ragged and she could feel sweat prickling under her arms. Just as she was about to go over the edge, she suddenly flung the quilt off, needing fresh air. She was past caring about the consequences, and luckily, the clearing was as silent and empty as it had been before.

Now Brittany pressed upward even harder, using all her strength, her long, tapering fingers hooking that particular spot that seemed to have been created for her exclusive use. It wasn't like any boy had ever found it, or even bothered to look for it. Santana felt a split second of infinite pity for straight women before her muscles began to spasm wildly and all thoughts flew out of her mind. She clamped her knees around Brittany's hips, throwing her head back, making an intense effort to stifle the cry that wanted to come ripping out of her. The noise she ended up making was choked and painful sounding. Brittany's other arm grasped her around the waist, supporting her. Otherwise she would have fallen all the way backwards.

Through the dense foliage overhead, she could just make out a few stars. They wavered and seemed unnaturally bright through the moisture obscuring her vision. Then she closed her eyes, because it was just what she'd feared. It was too much. Along with the sheer physical release, she was flooded with an overpowering feeling of love like she'd never experienced in her life before. She again had to stifle the urge to cry out, but this time it would have been something closer to a sob, a child's desperate grasping to understand.

What she wanted to understand was so simple, really. _How could this be wrong?_ That was all she wanted to know. How could something that felt so much like worship, like the purest, most undiluted form of love, ever be wrong?

Because there were a lot of things wrong with her. She was a bad person, she knew. There were more bad things about herself than good things, no doubt about it. But this, _this _was not one of them, she told herself firmly, trembling as she felt the last of the waves travel through her. What she felt for Brittany was, she knew, the best thing about her. _The best thing. _And yet it was also the thing that made people hate her. People she didn't even know. How could that be? What kind of nightmare world was this, when the love that made her finally feel like a member of the human race was the reason certain people wanted her gone from the human race? She couldn't understand. She didn't think she would ever understand.

When all the tension left her body, she used the last of her remaining strength to tilt Brittany's head back and kiss her again, this time quieter, all the urgency drained out of it. It was a kiss of tenderness and plain gratitude, but somehow tinged with sadness. Then she collapsed against her, still straddling her lap, her head buried against her neck. Brittany put her arms around her and held her, tightly. For a long time they breathed in the fresh, cool air, letting their heart rates slow, not saying anything. The campfire was very low now, the flames gone and the wood glowing a dull orange above the heat in the center of the pit. Near-total darkness had descended on the clearing.

Brittany was the first one to speak out of the silence, in a voice just barely above a whisper, like she was stating a simple truth.

"I would never let anyone hurt you. You know that, right?"

At these words, Santana felt fresh tears sting her eyes. She couldn't say anything at first. Still hiding her face, she kissed Brittany's shoulder, then her neck, then higher up on her neck. "I love you so much," she said against her ear, her voice cracking with emotion.

"I love you too."

She felt tears on Brittany's face, and she leaned back to brush them away, thinking they were her own. But they weren't.

"Don't you cry, too," she said with a little laugh as she ran her thumbs along her cheeks. This was ridiculous. But her own tears hadn't stopped yet either, and she sniffled, then laughed again. "God, we're such _girls_."

Brittany smiled, biting her lip a little to keep it from trembling, and nodded. "Yeah."

They looked into each other's eyes for a few more seconds, still crying, and then kissed again.

When they broke away this time, Santana reluctantly turned around and slid back over to the side, leaning up against Brittany again. The night air was even cooler than before, so they pulled the quilt up around them.

Santana knew she couldn't let this happen again, that she would have to tell Brittany to be the strong one, to not let herself be persuaded. Because if they went back to the way things used to be, to doing this in secret, nothing would ever change. She would never have the courage to come out. The threat of losing all this... that was she needed to help her be brave. She couldn't lose this. Not when she'd just understood for the first time how special it was, how you only felt this way about somebody maybe once in a lifetime, if you were lucky.

But she didn't regret what had happened tonight. If she lived to be a hundred, she would never regret it. And she would never forget it.

After a few minutes, Brittany rested her head on Santana's shoulder. She could tell by the heavy weight of it that she was tired.

"You can sleep for a while if you want," she said softly. "I'll stay awake and listen for your parents. I had all that coffee earlier."

"You sure?"

She stroked her hair. "Yeah."

For a long time there was no sound at all, other than a log on the fire breaking in two with a quiet _crshhh_, sending a shower of sparks up. Santana watched it, her cheek resting on top of Brittany's head, her breathing slow and peaceful. She drifted in a sort of trance state, her eyes open, but her vision not focused on much of anything but the glow of the fire. Time passed, but she had no idea how much.

Suddenly Brittany spoke again, surprising her a little. Her voice sounded fuzzy with sleep. "He _was _pretty useless."

Santana made an effort to make sense of this, but in her current blissed-out drowsiness, she couldn't. "What?" She didn't raise her head up.

"The Ken doll," Brittany said. "I mean, he didn't have any money. He only had one pair of clothes." She paused. Then, sounding like she was hardly even awake, she added, "He didn't even have a penis. Just that weird smooth place."

Santana smiled, closing her eyes in sheer adoration. "Brittany." She turned a little and kissed the top of her head, then whispered, "_Go to sleep_."

Brittany breathed in deeply and then let it out, relaxing against her. "Okay."

Now the silence was total. Santana tucked the quilt more tightly around the two of them, then put her arms around Brittany and leaned her head on top of hers again. She stared into the clearing, determined to stay awake.

Within five minutes, they were both fast asleep.


	8. Chapter 8

**Again, I'm sorry for the lateness of this update. It's so long, I probably should have split it in two, but it might be confusing to post two chapters in one update, so I'll just leave it as-is.**

**The only thing I feel like I should note about this one is that the church sign Santana sees toward the middle of the chapter is a _real _church sign that recently got some press in Ohio. I didn't make that shit up... I only wish I had.**

**More than anything else, I just want to say thank you, again, to everyone who has reviewed over the course of this story. I had no idea when I started it that there would be so many readers (now I'm wishing I'd plotted it to be a little longer, but a camping trip story is limited by its very nature.) I'm actually sad this is the last chapter, and I know I'm going to miss writing it. Some have asked if I plan to start something else, and I have no current ideas in mind, but I doubt I'll be able to hold off too long. I don't know what it'll be, but Brittana has gotten under my skin. I'm addicted to them!**

**I added my tumblr link to my profile, so anything I write will be linked from there, and I also hope some of you will consider coming over to the Brittana thread on Glee-forum. It's an amazing group, and we love new people!**

**Once again, thank you so much, from the bottom of my heart. This has really meant a lot to me.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 8<strong>

_What the hell is under my sleeping bag?_

Santana attempted to roll over and dislodge whatever it was that was keeping her from stretching out, but it didn't move. She opened her eyes, blinking in the gray morning light, and was confused to find herself looking not through the mesh ceiling of her tent, or any tent for that matter, but straight up into the trees.

_Oh, shit._ It all came rushing back to her, and now she realized why her back and neck ached, why it felt like she'd been sleeping on a log all night. Because she _had _been sleeping on a log all night.

Annoyed with herself, she groaned a little, trying to stretch, and it was only then that she realized she had an audience. She froze. Brittany's parents were sitting in canvas chairs on the other side of the now smoldering campfire, drinking coffee from steaming mugs. They smiled at her.

"Good morning, sweetheart," Bunny said.

"Hi," she said awkwardly, sitting up. Alarmed, she glanced down at Brittany, and was glad to see she was facing the other direction. So at least they hadn't been all over each other. But still...

"Decided to stay out under the stars, huh?" Gerald asked.

"Yeah," she said, grasping onto the explanation he offered. "It was just so nice out. And also, I forgot that I'm a little claustrophobic." She inwardly cringed as soon as the words left her mouth. _Wow_, that sounded stupid. A little claustrophobic?

But Gerald only nodded and sipped at his coffee. "I used to know a good joke about claustrophobia." He considered. "Or maybe it was cluster bombs."

Santana looked down at Brittany again and nudged her a little. She wanted someone to help take the spotlight off her. "Hey.. wake up."

"Feline gingivitis for two hundred," Brittany muttered, not opening her eyes.

Santana gave her a strange look, but decided to let her sleep a little longer. She started to pull herself out from under the quilt, but then she realized that her jeans were still undone. _Oh my God. _

Gerald and Bunny were watching her with a bemused sort of affection. In order to distract them, she asked, "How was your fishing trip?" Underneath the blanket, she tried to button her pants with as little movement as possible. It now seemed like a blessing in disguise that they'd been in too much of a hurry to undress.

"It was lovely," Bunny said, trading a flirtatious smile with her husband. "We used organic bait and navigated by the stars. We only got lost three times. Didn't catch anything, though."

"Well, maybe next time," she said, using the words to mask the sound of her zipper going up. What would they think if they knew who'd pulled it down? She felt her face get warm just thinking about it.

A light breeze picked up, rustling the leaves around the campsite, and there was a distant rumble of thunder. Now she realized that it wasn't just dark because it was early. The sky hung low and gray with the threat of storms. Great. Why not?

Bunny stretched and stood up. "Guess I better get breakfast started, just in case Mother Nature comes calling." Then she seemed to realize how this sounded and she amended, "I mean rain, not... you know." She raised her eyebrows at Santana. "Do you want to help, honey?"

"Um." Santana looked around, hoping an excuse would come to her, or that Brit would wake up and rescue her, but no such luck. It was too hard to say no to Mrs. Pierce. She was just so freaking _nice_. "Okay."

Fifteen minutes later, she found herself standing over a barbecue grill with a skillet balanced on it, pushing a mixture of eggs and milk around with a spatula. So _this _was how they got scrambled. She'd had no idea.

From this opposite side of the campsite, she'd been keeping a close eye on Brittany. She was awake and up now, dressed and back from the latrine, chatting with her dad. She still hadn't spoken to her, but they'd been exchanging meaningful glances, even a coy little wave. Of course, this was not exactly the way she'd wanted things to go. Santana wished they could have woken up slowly and just lay there together for a while. But there were too many other people around. How were you supposed to have post-coital romance with parents and second graders in the picture? Maybe if they'd gone into the damn tent like they were supposed to...

"Morning," Brittany said, finally getting a chance to slip away from her family and come over to Santana.

"Hi."

They smiled at each other a little shyly, thinking about last night.

"I really thought I could stay awake," Santana said in an apologetic way. "I don't know what happened."

"It's okay. I like sleeping outside."

They smiled at each other again, and Santana bit her lip, looking back down at the skillet. Okay, this was stupid. It wasn't like they'd never had sex before. Why did it feel like the first time?

"So, check it out," she said as she indicated her cooking. "Huevos, Lopez style."

"Santana. Those are _eggs_." Brittany's tone of voice said _Nice try._

She thought about explaining, but it didn't seem worth it. "You're right." She looked over at Gerald and Bunny, who were attempting to make toast on the remains of the campfire. "Hey, can I ask you something? Do you think your parents know?" She paused, then elaborated, "About us?"

"No. Not that I know of."

"It's just that they were giving me this _look _when I woke up." She scraped the spatula across the bottom of the pan, watching as the liquid magically started to form lumps. "I don't know... it was weird."

The truth was, she found herself almost hoping that they did know. She couldn't believe it, but there was a part of her that wanted them to figure things out on their own, and to still be okay with it. But what were the chances of everything going that smoothly? For her, approximately zero percent.

"Well, I didn't tell 'em, if that's what you're asking," Brittany said. "Besides, I'm pretty sure they think I'm still a virgin."

"Brittany, come _on_." Who was she kidding?

"Well, in their defense, I thought I was too until just recently. It turns out that word doesn't mean what I thought it meant."

Santana shook her head. She wasn't touching that one. She didn't even want to know.

Now Brittany kicked at the dirt, looking over toward the tent and then back at the ground again. She sighed heavily, sounding annoyed, which was unusual coming from her.

"What's wrong?"

It was obvious she didn't want to say. But eventually she mumbled, "Do you have any tampons with you?"

Santana couldn't resist laughing at her a little. So that was it. She told her in a teasing tone, "I thought you _liked _surprises."

Brittany shrugged, still looking irritable. "Yes or no."

"I think I have an emergency backup in my purse. Hold on."

"I can get it," Brittany said, stopping her. "You're doing such a good job."

Santana looked down at the skillet as Brit walked away, pleased with herself. She _was _doing a kickass job. These were going to be the best eggs the Pierces had ever tasted. Who knew it was as simple as pushing a spatula back and forth? She could even make them at home and impress Mildred the cleaning lady with how self-sufficient she was.

She was still fantasizing about how proud Mildred would be when Brittany climbed back out of the tent, an odd expression on her face.

"Did you find it?" Santana asked her.

"Yeah." She held it up, and then proceeded to wipe the outer plastic wrapping off with her shirt tail, saying at the same time in a low voice so that her parents wouldn't overhear, "But... here's a weird question for you. Why is everything in your purse soaked in whiskey?"

She stopped stirring the eggs. _Son of a bitch._ She'd forgotten all about that. Not about what had happened, obviously, but about the fact that she was still carrying around the evidence with her. And she'd just sent Brittany directly to it. Now the smell came wafting toward her, probably from Brit's hands, and she felt a stab of nausea.

"I don't know," she said, making a bad effort at sounding surprised. "Maybe that bottle I have in there got broken."

"That bottle of tequila?" Brittany asked. "No, it's fine. And also, it has tequila in it. Not whiskey." Her tone said _How stupid do you think I am?_

"I don't know what to tell you, Brittany," she said in an evasive way, feeling like she was being interrogated. "But I promise I'll get that picture fixed. There's a guy on my street who specializes in liquor damage. He can restore anything, good as new."

"I'm not worried about the picture. I'm worried about _you_. You're hiding something, I know you are."

"Look, it's not that big of a deal, okay?" The words were louder than she'd intended, and she said in a quieter voice, "Stop being such a drama queen about it." She gave her a pleading look, begging her to let it go.

Brittany continued to stare at her, disappointed. The honeymoon vibe they'd had going on just five minutes ago had evaporated into thin air. Even though she knew it was her fault, Santana was irrationally pissed at Brittany for ruining it.

"You're burning those."

She followed Brit's gaze down to the skillet, and then swore under her breath as she yanked it off the heat. The eggs were scorched and stuck to the bottom of the pan. Well, so much for that.

"Oh, sweetie!" Bunny suddenly rushed over, taking it from her. "I think they're done."

"Sorry," Santana muttered.

"Don't you worry about it!" Bunny said with loud, exaggerated cheer. "We love dark eggs, don't we girls? More flavor that way!"

Ariel wandered over and peered into the skillet. She stuck her pinky in her mouth, not answering. Bianca smiled, apparently thrilled by the fact that Santana had screwed things up. "I'm allergic to eggs," she announced.

Santana brushed past all of them, heading into the woods. She didn't bother to explain where she was going or why she wasn't sticking around for breakfast. She was tired of making excuses. Let Brittany come up with something for her.

When she got far enough away from the clearing to be out of sight, she slowed down. For no particular reason that she could name, she drew the pocket knife out of her jeans and opened it up, staring down at the blade. God, it would feel so good to stab somebody right now. What if Brittany had been right, and that guy was still here? What if she just happened to stumble on his campsite, and he was still sleeping? Or maybe she could just threaten him, scare the hell out of him the way he'd scared her. It was a ridiculous thought, she knew. But it made her feel a little better, just picturing it.

Idly, as if she wasn't even paying attention to what she was doing, she pressed the very tip of the blade against the center of her left palm, softly at first, and then with a bit more pressure. With a sharp intake of breath, she saw a bead of blood well up.

Then she pulled the knife away in horror, wondering what the hell she was doing. Why had she just done that? _You are so not gonna turn into one of those girls. No way. Not a fucking chance._

Using all of her strength, she stabbed the knife into the trunk of a tree, feeling the satisfying way it sliced through the wood and stuck there. She had the urge to yank it back out and stab the tree again, over and over, but she resisted. Instead of heading back to the campsite, though, she continued on down toward the water.

Reaching the lake, she stood at the edge for a minute, splashing some water onto the cut on her palm. It had already stopped bleeding, thank God. Looking out toward the distant shore, she had the sudden impulse to wade in, to just keep going. It wasn't rational... she could barely swim and she had a suspicion the water wasn't even clean. It smelled like fish. But she rolled up her jeans anyway and walked out until she was at knee depth. She felt like she needed to escape from something, and this was the closest she could come at the moment.

It was colder than she'd thought it would be. In fact, the air itself was noticeably cooler than it had been yesterday. The wind picked up as the sky continued to darken, and against the blue gray of the clouds, she could see that the trees along the far shore of the lake had just the faintest tinge of yellow. Summer really was almost over. For the first time, there was an unmistakable feel of autumn in the air.

Santana lost track of time, not knowing how long she'd been standing in the water, or even _why _she was standing in the water. Suddenly a voice came from behind her, on the shore.

"Hey."

She turned around slightly, already knowing who it was. "Hey."

"Can I come out there with you?"

"I don't own the lake, Brit." She looked back out at the water. "If I did, I'd pave it over and put in a Starbucks."

She heard light splashing behind her as Brittany waded out to join her. She stood by her side, but not too close, about three feet away, as if she wanted to give her some distance. Crossing her arms, she waited in silence for a minute, following Santana's gaze to the thick woods on the opposite shore. Then she said hesitantly, "I thought maybe you came out here to sing by yourself, or something."

Santana looked at her like she was crazy. "Why would I do that?"

"I don't know." She shrugged. "It's what all our friends do when they're sad."

She rolled her eyes. "That's because all our friends are freaks."

Brittany didn't reply to this, other than to press her lips together a little in what was probably disapproval. Another low, threatening rumble came from the sky, louder this time. "I think it's gonna rain."

"No kidding. Maybe you should get a job forecasting on Channel 7." Santana heard how bitchy these words sounded, and immediately felt bad. She glanced at Brittany. "Sorry."

Brittany dragged her foot through the water, looking down at the ripples she kicked up. "I bet you _did _come down here to sing," she said, nodding as if she'd figured it out. "I bet you were standing out here, getting ready to sing that Pocahontas song about the blue porn moon."

She couldn't resist smiling just a little bit, even though she still felt like shit. "It's _corn _moon."

"Santana, that doesn't make any sense," Brittany told her in a pitying way. "What's a corn moon? That's stupid."

"Okay, you're right. Because _everybody _knows what a porn moon is."

Brittany didn't respond to this with words. Instead, she leaned forward, and using the tips of her fingers, sent a small spray of water over in Santana's direction.

She stiffened up, holding her hand out in a warning gesture. "Stop it."

"Fine," Brittany said. "_Jeez_." She waited a few seconds. With a mischievous look on her face, she dipped her hand in deeper and sent yet another splash over to the side, this one landing square on the front of Santana's upper thighs, spattering her jeans.

"Brittany, I'm serious! I am so not in the mood."

"Yeah, clearly." Brittany stood still again. Then, as if she couldn't help herself, she used both hands to create the biggest splash yet, drenching the front of Santana's shirt.

She sucked in her breath, turning to Brittany in shock, arms out at her sides.

Then, in retaliation, she sent a massive wall of water in her direction, which hit her directly in the face. Brittany gasped and stared at her open-mouthed, eyes wide with glee as if to say _Look what you did_! It was the justification she'd been waiting for.

Santana tried to back up, knowing what was coming, but Brittany lunged at her, pulling her underwater before she could make it more than a few steps. They both came up shrieking and laughing. She grabbed Brittany's head and plunged her back under the water, but she was pulled down with her. They fought each other with aggressive playfulness, going under again and again, yelping with delight. Santana opened her eyes underwater and saw nothing but blond and black hair mixed together, swirling in front of her eyes.

The water level dropped off steeply, and even though they'd shifted just a few feet further out, they were now at a depth up to Brittany's chest and Santana's shoulders. "Okay, truce!" Santana finally choked out after a few more minutes of roughhousing, realizing how deep they were in. "Or you're gonna drown my ass."

Brittany seemed to sense her nervousness. She grabbed her around the waist and pulled her close, supporting her. They tried to catch their breath, bobbing up and down in the water, their faces just inches away from each other. The wind whipped the tree limbs around and another peal of thunder sounded, the storm getting closer.

Pressed up against Brittany, Santana shivered. The wind was cool and the water was even colder, but she didn't think that was the reason. She leaned back a little, still being held firmly by the waist, and pushed Brit's wet hair out of her eyes. For a while they just looked at each other without saying anything.

"Do you have any idea how lucky you are that I can't stay mad at you?" Santana asked just above a whisper, touching Brittany's nose with her index finger.

Brittany smiled at her. "Definitely. I was counting on it."

Santana stared at her lips, and then, unable to help herself, bent forward and kissed her. The inside of her mouth was deliciously warm compared to the lake water, and she felt the pull through her entire body. Brittany kissed her back, still holding her close. Santana raised her hands up out of the water, cupping her face, tugging a little at her lower lip with her teeth.

Reluctantly she pulled away, taking a shaky breath. Maybe things would be okay after all. If they could just get through this weekend.

Brittany looked like she wanted to kiss her again, but before she could, the expression on her face suddenly changed. She was looking over Santana's shoulder. "Uh-oh," she said in a low voice.

Santana turned to see what it was, already dreading whatever she would find.

On the edge of the shore, Bianca was standing there, watching them. She bounced up and down on her toes. "Are you lesbians?" she sang out. And she looked, for all the world, _excited _about it.

As if she'd been burned, Santana jerked backwards away from Brittany, breaking her grip. She felt a combination of horror and shock and outrage pulsing through her. Struggling out of the deep water, going under and coughing a few times in her haste, she splashed toward the shore.

"Santana," Brittany said in a warning tone.

"You are, aren't you?" Bianca crowed as she approached. "I knew it!"

She made it to the shallower, knee-deep water. As if her body was no longer connected to her brain, she reached down and scooped up a rock, about the size of her fist. Not pausing to take aim, she hurled it at the little girl as hard as she could. It missed, whizzing by her head about two feet to the left. But Bianca moved back, startled.

"Santana!" Brittany yelled from behind her, horrified. She splashed in her direction. "What are you doing!"

She trudged all the way out of the water, tripping a little but grabbing at another, bigger rock from the edge of the shore. Bianca was now heading back up toward the woods, looking over her shoulder like she was being chased by a wild animal.

She tossed the second rock at her, but it didn't make it far enough. Frantically, she reached to pick up another one, even though the kid was by now almost out of sight. She felt Brittany's hand tugging on her arm, holding her back.

"Stop it!" Brittany shouted.

"Let go of me!" She tried to shake her off, but she was clutching her too tight.

"Are you crazy? She's just a kid!"

"No, she's not," she sobbed. "She's not just a kid! She was sent here to ruin my life. Did you hear her? She sounded like she wanted to take us to show and tell!"

"Calm _down_." Brittany held onto her shoulders, looking at her like she'd finally snapped. She pretty much felt like she had. "What are you talking about?"

"What do you mean, what am I talking about? That evil little witch is gonna tell everyone! We might as well put it on a billboard!" She heard the hysteria in her voice, but she couldn't do anything about it. This was her worst fear, coming true.

"_You're _gonna tell everyone, if you don't stop screaming." Brittany was attempting to sound reasonable, but her voice was shaking.

"Don't you see what this means?" she ranted. "It's totally out of our hands now, _no tenemos ningún control sobre ella_!"

"You know I can't understand you when you talk Spanish."

Santana turned away from her, still rambling on. "I should have killed her when I had the chance. I shouldn't have gotten rid of the knife. God, this is even worse than that Muckraker thing. Like, a million times worse. There's an actual witness."

"Yeah, what could be worse than someone seeing us kiss?" Brittany rolled her eyes, looking disheartened and angry. "I'm so tired of this."

"_You're _tired of it?" Santana spun back around toward her. "How do you think I feel?"

"I don't know, Santana! Because you won't ever tell me how you feel. You won't even tell me what happened the other night that's making you act so crazy."

"Okay, fine. You really want to know what happened, Brit?" She stepped toward her, feeling a vindictive need to shock her. "I'll tell you what happened. I got high with some redneck scumbag at a gas station. And then he called us dykes and said we should be wiped off the planet, and then he threw a bottle of whiskey at me and it cut my ankles all to hell. _That's _what happened the other night. So now you know!" She paused, feeling a sick sense of satisfaction at the look on Brittany's face. "Do you feel better now? Aren't you glad we _shared our feelings_?"

"_What_?" Brittany stared at her, appalled. "How could you not have said anything? You should have told me! You should have told my parents!"

"So they could do what, exactly?" She paused a little to wait for an answer, knowing there wouldn't be one. "Sing me a lullaby to make it all better? They can't protect us from that stuff. Nobody can. We're not eight years old anymore!"

Brittany watched her, her horror gradually fading into something more like sorrow. She looked miserable, but more for Santana's sake than her own. She started toward her, reaching for her, but Santana backed away, shaking her head to warn her off.

"Don't." She knew all Brit wanted to do was hold her, but she couldn't let her. Not right now.

Brittany let her arms drop back down to her sides, giving up, but obviously not without an inner struggle. "I don't know what to say."

"There isn't anything to say." Santana looked down at herself, at her drenched clothes, her shoes that were no doubt ruined. None of it seemed to matter. The wind gusted around them, and a few fat drops of rain spattered down, heralding the coming downpour.

In a quiet, resolute voice, she went on. "Brittany, I can't do this. I'm not gonna be able to do it. I'm so sorry." She looked back up at her, knowing she would understand exactly what she was talking about. With more tears welling up, she dragged her wrist across her cheeks, which didn't help much. Forcing the words out, she told her, "I don't want you to wait for me anymore. You deserve..." Her voice broke, and she waited until she could go on. "You deserve so much better."

There was no immediate response to this, like she'd expected there to be. Brittany was silent, taking it in. A crack of thunder sounded just over their heads, and she glanced up at the sky, worried.

Gerald's voice suddenly echoed from the woods. "Hey girls, you still down there?"

Santana used the distraction to move a few steps toward the water. She faced away and tried to get her emotions under control, hoping Brittany's dad wouldn't come any closer. She wondered if Bianca had told them about her meltdown.

Brittany seemed to force herself to turn around. "What is it?"

"Got some bad news! Mom was just listening to the weather on the radio, and it looks like this rain's supposed to stick around for a few days. Think we're gonna have to hit the road early."

"That's okay, Dad," she called back. "We'll be right up."

She waited until he was out of sight, then approached Santana again. She stood close to her. In a low, earnest tone, she spoke. "I just want you to know that... I will never stop waiting for you."

Still facing the water, Santana closed her eyes, shaking her head a tiny bit, but Brittany ignored her and went on. "I don't care how long it takes. And even if you're with someone else... even if I'm with someone else. It won't matter. I will _never _stop waiting."

"Don't say that," she whispered.

"I have to. It's the truth."

Brittany gently brushed Santana's hair out of her eyes, and then turned and headed back up toward the path, glancing back once as if reluctant to leave her behind but sensing she should give her space.

When she was alone, Santana sank down onto the gravel beach, tilting her head backwards and letting the rain hit her full in the face. There was no lightning, but if there had been, she would have done the same thing, daring a bolt to strike her. She sat there for as long as she could stand it.

* * *

><p>They packed up the van in a hurry, trying to beat the worst of the rain. Gerald and Bunny attempted to make even this hasty departure seem like an adventure, but most of the girls weren't buying it. Bianca kept shooting wary looks at Santana, as if waiting for her to snap again. She wisely kept her distance.<p>

Santana tried to avoid everyone's eyes. All she wanted was to gather her things together and get as far away from this place as possible. Thank God for the weather, or they'd be here for another day.

Because she was freezing from being in the water, and the temperature was still dropping, Bunny gave her a sweatshirt to change into. It was pale pink and said Peace Corps on the front. Although she generally had a rule against wearing pink, or anything that promoted a cause, she was beyond caring at the moment. It was warm and dry and it smelled like the Pierces laundry detergent, which reminded her of Brittany. It was probably the closest she'd get to her for a long time, now.

Finally everything was packed up and they climbed into the van. The rain was beginning to fall in sheets now, and thunder shook the ground. "Just in time," Gerald said.

"Isn't this nice and cozy?" Bunny asked. No one replied.

As they pulled out onto the dirt road, Santana noticed Brittany staring wistfully out the rear glass, back over in the direction of the campfire pit and the lake. She wondered what she was thinking about, but she didn't ask her. She didn't look back at all.

To her immense relief, they passed by the gas station from hell without even slowing. The tank didn't need to be filled up yet, and everyone but Santana had just eaten breakfast. She didn't know what she would have done if she'd had to sit there in that parking lot and stare at the shattered glass that she had no doubt still littered the ground.

Sinking back into the seat, she tried to relax and settle in for the long haul. The interior of the van was warm, stuffy even, and had that signature post-vacation smell of lake water, dirty socks, and junk food. She had a feeling it was going to be a long, strained trip home, even longer than the trip here had been. It didn't help that nobody wanted to talk to her, and she didn't want to speak to them either.

Leaning into the corner of her seat, she drifted in and out of a sort of willed sleepiness. The rain pounding on the roof of the van helped make conversation unnecessary, drowning out words and even thoughts. In the front the windshield wipers droned back and forth in a hypnotic way, squeaking rhythmically. They seemed to travel deeper into the gloomy weather the further west they headed.

In a small town somewhere about an hour away from the lake, they stopped at an intersection to wait for a red light. Santana stared out the window, not focusing on much of anything. Through the rain, she found herself looking at a sign near the street, the words blurry and meaningless at first. Then she blinked and peered forward a little through the water-beaded glass in disbelief.

It wasn't just any sign. It was a church message board, the kind with transparent removable letters, the kind she'd specifically been trying to avoid looking at. But now she'd let her guard down, and she'd taken in the entire thing before she'd even had the chance to look away.

But it couldn't seriously say what she thought it said, could it? It had to be her mind playing tricks on her. Because there was no way. There was just no way. _ I mean, honestly, what are the chances that I would see this TODAY? Is the universe fucking with me? Is that what's going on here?_

In bold black print on a white background, the sign proclaimed,

I KISSED A GIRL AND I LIKED IT

AND THEN I WENT TO HELL

"FOR THE WAGES OF SIN IS DEATH" - ROMANS 6:23

Knowing she shouldn't, but unable to help herself, she nudged Brittany. She felt like she needed to prove something to her, and maybe this was a harsh way to do it, but it needed to be done. Maybe she could make her understand why she'd said what she had earlier, why she knew that she couldn't go through with it, at least not here in Ohio. But also, she wanted confirmation that the sign really said what she thought it said, that she wasn't just losing her mind. It was too surreal.

Brittany looked at her, and Santana gestured out her window, silently, so that she wouldn't attract the attention of anyone else in the vehicle. Brittany leaned across her to peer out, and she watched her lips move a little as she read the words. Then she slowly straightened back up, not looking at Santana, but instead at the floor of the van. She had a strange expression on her face.

"That's stupid," she muttered after a second. "That song is like three years old."

Santana stared at her, incredulous, thinking, _That's it? _ This was so different than just one homophobic hillbilly. This was the stance of an entire group of people, a group that was the definition of normality, at least around here. She swallowed hard and tried to keep her voice low and calm. "I just wanted you to see it." The words came out sounding harsher than she'd intended. But how, _how _could she not be affected by this? How could it not get through?

"I saw it."

Brittany raised her gaze to make eye contact, and now, finally, Santana could see something like hurt there, as well as disgust, and maybe just the barest trace of fear for what they were going to have to deal with if they ever did go public. It was all there in her eyes, plain as day to someone who knew her as well as she did. Brittany looked as if the world had suddenly betrayed her, as if all along she'd thought it was one thing and now it was revealed to be something else entirely. It was what Santana had wanted to see from her, what she'd _needed _to see, and now that she saw it she wanted nothing more than to never, ever see it again.

Because now she knew, without a doubt, that she was the most selfish person in the world. She felt like she'd personally put that look in Brittany's eyes, and she knew she could never take it back. That was absurd, of course. The world would have put it there eventually, even if she'd had nothing to do with it. But it didn't change the way she felt. She felt like she'd stolen the innocence from the person she loved most in the world.

She wanted to say she was sorry, that she never should have made her look, but Brittany was already facing out her own window, arms crossed in a protective way over her chest, staring vacantly into the rain. She looked sadder than Santana had ever seen her before.

After what seemed an interminable wait, the light finally turned green, and they rolled on past the church. She closed her eyes, leaning back in her seat, determined not to give the sign even one more passing glance. If she had to see it again she was afraid she'd be sick.

* * *

><p>For a while she dozed, coming in and out of wakefulness. She wasn't sure exactly how much time had passed, but she knew it had to be at least a few hours. They had to be getting close to home, didn't they? They were on the interstate now, back in the world of flat farmland, the hills and valleys of the southern part of the state thankfully left behind. Santana had never thought she'd be so glad to see cornfields.<p>

At an exit for the small town of Lakeview, Gerald slowed and eased the van off the highway. Santana sat up a little, confused. "We're not going to _another _lake, are we?" she muttered to Brittany. She was afraid she'd have to jump out of the moving vehicle if that was the case.

Brittany said without looking at her, "We're just dropping Bianca off. She lives here."

"Oh."

Wait, the kid didn't even live in Lima? Now she remembered Brittany saying the little girls had met at Brownie camp. So she supposed that made sense, but it hadn't occurred to her before. Her terror over Bianca telling everyone about the kiss seemed a little less acute now. After all, she probably didn't know anybody that they knew.

But now she realized this meant she was going to have to be there when the kid was reunited with her parents. Freaking perfect. She'd no doubt spill everything to them. _They'll probably call the cops on me_, Santana thought. Child endangerment. Attempted murder. Her mind raced ahead to the inevitable trial, and she saw herself trying to convince the jury that she wasn't really gay, that it was just that Brittany had saved her from drowning, and she'd been so grateful she'd kissed her without thinking about it...

They traveled down a tiny, picturesque main street, like something from a movie set. On a side road, Gerald pulled up at a Victorian farmhouse that seemed to be in the process of a remodeling job. Only one half had fresh paint, and there was scaffolding on the rounded cupola. Although Santana hated old stuff, she had to admit it was kind of cute. Not the type of house she'd expected Satan's spawn to reside in. But you never could tell.

A woman opened the front door of the house and ducked through the rain, jogging out to the van. Bianca undid her seatbelt, excited. "Mom!" When the door was slid open, she flung herself at her. "Guess what? I got a sun tan!"

Santana allowed herself to breathe a sigh of relief. Maybe she was safe after all. That didn't sound like the opening to a tale of attempted bludgeoning.

And now she looked closer at the woman who was smiling down at Bianca, pushing the little girl's hair back behind her ears. _Huh. That's weird._ She was Asian. Was the kid adopted? Her mom had a short, funky haircut, and she was wearing a trendy leather jacket with boots... _amazing _boots. Santana stared at her feet, wondering where she'd bought them.

Someone else emerged from the house, carrying an umbrella. When this person got closer, Santana could see that it was another woman. And here was the second weird thing. This woman was almost identical to Bianca... same hair, same eyes, same everything. They were obviously related. Yet she'd called the other one Mom.

Bianca now ran toward the second woman, throwing her arms around her waist. The two women smiled at each other over her head, and Santana watched them. Suddenly her eyes narrowed, her mind racing. _Wait a minute. Are they...?_

Bunny got out of the van and circled around to the back, opening the rear door and yanking Bianca's duffel bag out from under the mountain of other luggage. "Here you go, sweetie!"

The kid ran toward her. Both women called after her in unison "Say thank you!"

"Thank you," Bianca repeated. She looked through the back door into the van, catching Santana's eye. Still seeming a little intimidated, she said, "Bye."

Feeling guilty, she mumbled back, "See you around, Beyoncé." And then in an even lower voice, "Sorry about the rock."

Bianca smiled at her. All seemed to be forgiven, and she reflected that it was probably the _Beyoncé _that had done it. It figured. If only everyone was as easy to please as a second-grader.

The little girl hoisted her bag over her shoulder and ran toward her house. "Slow down!" one of the women called after her. The two of them smiled and waved at the Pierces, then headed up the walkway, both ducking under the umbrella against the heavy rain. One of them, the dark-haired one, let her hand slip behind her and settle lightly on the other one's ass. Santana peered closer, wondering if she was imagining it. But she didn't think she was.

She looked over at Brittany to see if she'd noticed, and was glad to see that she had, and that she looked thoughtful, too. What had they just seen?

Santana leaned forward to try to get Ariel's attention, which wasn't easy because she was playing some kind of handheld video game. "Hey," she said, trying to sound casual. "Where was your friend's dad?"

Without looking up from her game, Ariel said in a manner that indicated everyone should already know this, "Bianca doesn't have a dad. She has two moms."

Santana leaned back in her seat and looked at Brittany again. Neither of them seemed to know what to say.

"They're lovely women," Bunny said from the front, overhearing the answer. "I'm sure they weren't thrilled about having to move here from Chicago, but apparently there was no way around it. Some kind of job transfer."

"They seem to be doing okay, though," Gerald added. "I guess things are finally starting to change around here." He caught Santana's eye in the rearview mirror and gave her a small smile. She looked away, quickly.

"It's about time," Bunny sighed.

Santana was quiet, thinking about the implications of all this. Now she realized why Bianca had sounded genuinely excited when she'd seen them kissing in the lake. It all made sense. And she realized, yet again, what a terrible person she was.

It also occurred to her, in a confused and jumbled way, that everything she'd thought this weekend had proved to her was suddenly much less certain, much less conclusive. This seemed to complicate everything. How were those women living here, in this town not even a fourth the size of Lima? How could they stand it? And if they could stand it... what did that mean for her and Brittany? Did it mean _anything_? Maybe. Maybe not. She sure as hell couldn't make sense of it right now. But she also couldn't deny that she felt the slightest, almost non-existent inkling of something like hope.

* * *

><p>Back on the interstate, it wasn't long before they began seeing signs for the Lima exit. Santana could practically feel her satin sheets already. She wondered if her TiVo had recorded Keeping Up with the Karadashians. She missed those crazy Armenian bitches.<p>

But before they could make it to the exit, the van went haywire. With the same loud backfiring noise it had made outside Santana's house on Friday morning, the power seemed to fail. It jerked spasmodically and slowed down. "Darn it," Gerald said, which was apparently the closest he could come to cursing.

"Are we gonna die?" Ariel wailed.

"Sweetheart, calm down," her mom told her. "It's just car trouble."

"Good." She sighed in relief, going back to her game. "Because I really want to get to the end of this level."

Gerald guided the vehicle onto an off-ramp and toward a truck stop. Santana wanted to scream. Would this trip _never _end? Even Brittany looked pissed off.

In the parking lot, both Pierces climbed out and stood examining the workings under the hood. After a few minutes Bunny popped her head back in, looking exasperated. "Why don't you girls go on in and get yourselves something to eat? It may be a while. Dad's gonna try to fix it."

"Mom," Brittany said, trying to keep her voice low. "He doesn't have any idea what he's doing."

She sighed. "Honey, I know that, and _you _know that, but try to tell him that. I'll give him twenty minutes and then I'll call a mechanic."

Brittany looked over at Santana, seeing if she wanted to go in.

"Whatever," she agreed, climbing forward and sliding open the door. It couldn't be worse than waiting here. Brittany followed her. Ariel decided to stay behind to play her game. She told her sister to bring her a milkshake, but Brittany pretended not to hear her.

The inside of the diner was old-fashioned, the kind with stools along the counter and pies on display. Santana shook her head a bit at how cliché it all was. The customers seemed to be mostly old people and truck drivers. The truckers of course checked her and Brittany out as they made their way through the restaurant, which she couldn't blame them for. Even though she knew the two of them weren't looking their best today, they were probably still the hottest action this dump had ever seen.

They took a seat in a booth next to the windows, facing each other. Santana pretended to examine a menu, and Brittany stared out at her parents on the other side of the parking lot. Gerald had his head under the hood of the van, and Bunny stood holding an umbrella over both of them, every few minutes glancing at her watch.

Finally Brittany turned away from the window and looked at her. There was a heavy silence between them, and Santana wasn't sure how to break it. This wasn't at all like the distance that had existed between them this morning, before the fight. There was no tension left now. This silence was just sad, and weary. What was there left to say?

Before she could attempt anything, a waitress came over. She was a tired looking middle-aged woman with mountains of curly red hair, and she said as if it were one word, "WhatcanIgetya?"

"I'll just have coffee."

The waitress looked at Brittany next, who was biting her lip and staring at the menu, unsure.

"They have a kids' meal," Santana encouraged her. "It comes with a toy."

Brittany closed the menu. "I'll just have coffee, too."

The waitress scratched something on her pad and then scooped up the menus, walking away without bothering to say anything.

Santana looked at Brittany, confused. "You don't even like coffee."

She met her eyes briefly, but then looked down at the table, saying, "Yeah, but... we're not eight years old anymore."

Hearing her words from this morning echoed back to her, Santana felt terrible. It was one thing to say something like that, herself, but to hear it from Brittany... it just felt wrong. She wished she could take it back.

She waited a few seconds, not knowing what to say. Brittany looked so sad. "I'm really sorry for ruining your camping trip," she told her. "I know how much you look forward to it every year."

"What are you talking about?" Brittany said, looking genuinely puzzled. "Except for this morning, this was the best Lake Hope Camping Trip Extravaganza ever. I had an amazing time."

"How can you say that?" She wanted to follow this up with _It was a nightmare_, but she stopped herself.

"Because _you _were with me." Brittany said this like it should be obvious. "That makes everything better. I just wish you had as much fun as I did. I wish... that you hadn't heard those awful things."

Santana scratched at a coffee ring on the table with her fingernail, considering these words. "I'm fine. And I mean, I did have _some _fun." She paused, adding in a low voice, "Especially last night." She met Brittany's eyes with a secretive smile, thankful to see that she returned it. And just like that, everything between them felt okay again. Not perfect, maybe, but better than before.

She breathed a small sigh of relief. "Can you believe that school starts in three days?"

"I know. I can't wait... I miss everybody."

Surprisingly, Santana found herself agreeing. "Me too." Then she seemed a little alarmed by this admission. "But don't you dare tell them I said that."

"I won't," Brittany promised.

The waitress, whose name tag read _Mindy _in faded black letters, returned with their coffee, setting both saucers down with a practiced clank.

"_Finally_," Santana said. "I've had faster service at my grandma's nursing home."

The woman gave her an impassive, ironic gaze, as if she'd heard it all before. "Anything else?"

"We'll let you know, Reba. You can go back to adding up your child support payments now." She watched her go with a patronizing smile.

"Santana," Brittany said when the waitress was out of earshot. The tone of her voice was gentle, but serious. Obviously she was about to say something she'd been thinking about for a while. "It's not that I don't love your vicious words, because I do. I even have a journal to keep track of your best insults. But... maybe this year, you could try not to use them quite as much?"

Confused, Santana asked, "_Why_?"

"It's just that... I think this whole gay thing might be easier for you if you didn't piss people off every time you open your mouth. Especially when they don't do anything to deserve it." Brittany seemed hesitant, but she forced herself to go on, dumping one, two, three, and then four packets of sugar into her coffee as she talked. "So do you think that... _maybe _you could be nicer to people sometimes? People who aren't me?"

"I don't know." Santana mulled this idea over for a few seconds. "I never tried it before."

"I think you should."

She seemed to give in, with a tiny nod, because it was impossible to deny Brittany anything when she looked so earnest. But she couldn't help whining, "I just wish that everyone didn't suck so bad."

Brittany patted her hand, sympathetic. "I know." She poured a massive dollop of milk into her coffee and then cautiously raised it to her lips, making a face as she tasted it. She seemed to force herself to swallow a gulp. "I don't know why grown-ups like this stuff so much. It doesn't even have whipped cream on it."

Toward the back of the restaurant, a fat trucker inserted a few coins into an ancient jukebox, and a twangy, honky-tonk song suddenly filled the restaurant, something about tractors and beer. "Oh, nice going, Lard Ass," Santana muttered. Off of Brittany's look, she added, "He can't hear me, that doesn't count." She exhaled wearily, leaning back into the booth and sipping her coffee."If I never hear country music again, I'll die happy."

And then, as if in direct response to this remark, My Headband started playing. Santana rolled her eyes heavenward as if to say _Of course_. _Because the universe is still punishing me_. Trying to keep her patience, she watched Brittany slowly take her phone out of her sweatshirt pocket and stare at it.

Finally, she couldn't stand it anymore. "Brit, are you gonna answer it or not?"

"In just a second. This is my favorite part."

Santana grabbed it from her, pushed the button, and then handed it back. Brittany gave her a reproachful look, but raised the phone to her ear.

"Hello?" She listened for a second, and her face took on a wary, closed-off expression. "Oh. Hi."

_Great_. Santana knew there were only two people in the world who could make Brittany look like that. One of them was Sue Sylvester. The other one was Rosa Lopez. And she seriously doubted Coach Sylvester would have any reason to call, especially now. So that left only one option.

She shook her head slightly at Brittany. _I'm not here. _

But Brittany already knew the drill. She didn't need any prompting. "She's not here. I mean, she is, but... you can't talk to her. She's busy." She paused, listening, then said, "She's feeding a goat."

Santana gave her a _What the fuck_? look and Brittany shrugged a little, as if to say _I couldn't think of anything else._

"Okay," she said into the phone, biting her lip in a nervous gesture. "Okay. I will." She glanced at Santana, then back down at the table, still listening. She held the phone out a little away from her ear, cringing, and Santana could hear the shrill voice even from across the table. "I don't understand what you're saying," Brittany said, and then abruptly, "I'm gonna hang up now, bye."

She turned the phone off, looking relieved, and put it back in her pocket.

Santana waited, a little anxious. Was there a chance they'd been worried about her? That they'd called to find out where she was, if she was okay? "What did she want?" she asked, when Brittany didn't seem forthcoming.

"First, she said that you're not answering your phone."

"My phone is totaled. Turns out being soaked in Wild Turkey didn't really agree with it."

"And then she said that... your dad just got your credit card bill. And that you spent seven thousand dollars in Puerto Rico. And then she started yelling at me in Spanish."

"Oh." _So that's all_. Santana wrapped her hands around her coffee mug, staring into the steaming liquid and avoiding Brittany's eyes for a second. "Whatever. Don't worry about it. By the time I get home, she'll be about five daiquiris in, she won't even remember that she called."

"Santana," Brittany said, sounding disturbed. "Seven _thousand _dollars?"

She raised her shoulders a little in an attempt at brushing it off. "It's not that much. And he deserved it. Trust me."

Brittany absorbed this, watching her. As if she almost didn't want to know the answer, she eventually asked, "What did he do?"

Santana met her gaze, and then looked away, shaking her head with a small, tight smile. "Another day," she said, knowing there was no way in hell she was getting into that story now. One thing at a time.

Though she didn't press her, Brittany was obviously troubled by the admission. She reached across the table and took Santana's hand. She stared down at it, contemplative, turning it palm upward and running her fingertips over the creases. She didn't ask why there was a tiny nick in the middle, she just traced around it gently. "I wish you could live with me. I hate your family," she said in a quiet voice.

Santana felt her throat tighten a little. _Not here. Don't do it_. She was suddenly reminded of last summer, almost exactly a year ago, and of waking up in a hospital bed, her chest feeling like it was on fire. Her father had been nowhere to be seen, her mother was in the hallway, screaming at a nurse about how if one turned out bigger than the other one, there'd be a lawsuit involved. The only person in the room had been Brittany. And even though Santana had lied to her the day before, told her that she'd changed her mind and she didn't want the surgery after all, she hadn't been surprised to see her there. Not a bit surprised.

For the next few days, through an infection that had set in, through a fog of painkillers, through her parents flitting in a few times a day in order to fight with each other in loud, hostile Spanish over her bed, Brittany had never left her side. Even when the hospital staff kicked her out at the end of visiting hours, she'd simply snuck back in. She'd never left, and she'd never uttered one word of blame.

"_You're _my family," Santana told her now, staring into her eyes with conviction. "Not them."

At this, Brittany lifted the hand she was holding, pressing her lips against it. They watched each other, communicating without words. But all of a sudden Brittany's expression closed off a little as she glanced to the side, and she lowered Santana's hand back to the table, letting go of it.

Santana looked to see what had disturbed her, and predictably, there was an old couple in the aisle across from them. The woman's mouth was a prim line of disapproval, and the man shook his head at his wife as he ate his eggs, lamenting what the world was coming to.

"Sorry," Brittany muttered, and Santana wasn't sure whether she was apologizing to the elderly people, or to her. Either way, it saddened her. And it also pissed her off. Would it always be like this? Would they always have to be careful about every look, every gesture, to avoid the risk of offending somebody? How the hell were two people in love supposed to exist like this? Even though she'd just announced this morning that she wasn't going to do it, that she _couldn't _do it, she could already feel her resolve slipping away. Every time she looked at Brittany, it slipped a little further.

"Speaking of living together," she said, hoping to distract Brit enough to get that guilty look off her face. "That reminds me of something I wanted to ask you about. Do you have any idea what you're gonna do after graduation? I know we used to think we'd get cheerleading scholarships, but... you can bet your sweet ass that's off the table now, thanks to Coach Lucifer. We'd be lucky to even get _on _a college squad. She's probably had us blacklisted."

"I don't know what I'm gonna do," Brittany said, swishing her coffee around. "My dad wants me to go to Harvard. Or Yale." In a confiding tone, she added, "I think he may be setting his sights a little too high, though."

Santana smiled sympathetically, agreeing. "Maybe just a little."

"Why? What do _you _want to do?"

She took a deep breath. She was suddenly nervous, and almost wished she hadn't broached the subject. Why did this seem so important? And what if the answer was no? What then?

"I want to go to New York," she told her. "And I want you to come with me."

"_New York_," Brittany repeated, looking out the window at her parents. It was obvious she hadn't considered the idea before. Santana's anxiety increased. "But it's so far away."

"It's not that far," she insisted. "Only about an hour by plane, remember? We could visit all the time... and your family could come and stay with us. Even your sister's awful friend. You know how much fun they'd have?" _Please say yes,_ she thought. _Please. Just give me this, and I won't ask you for anything else._

She could see the hesitation on Brittany's face as she thought it through, as she contemplated what it would actually be like. "Could I bring Lord Tubbington?"

"Of course." She felt a stab of hope. "I'll even register as a Democrat, just to make him happy."

"Then... yes." Brittany smiled, then nodded, confirming it. "I will totally move to New York with you."

Santana let out the breath she'd been holding, more grateful than she could possibly express. She felt like she'd just proposed marriage and been accepted. And Brittany never went back on her word, ever. This meant it was real. It was really going to happen. "It's gonna be so amazing, I promise. You and me are gonna tear that town a new one."

Brittany thought for a second. "Can Kurt and Rachel live with us too?"

It was on the tip of her tongue to say _Not a chance in hell_. But she felt like she shouldn't push her luck, not this soon after getting the answer she'd so badly wanted. Instead she narrowed her eyes in pretend consideration and said in a strained voice, "We'll see."

Satisfied with this, Brittany took another sip of coffee.

"I can't believe graduation is only nine months away," Santana said. Until now, it hadn't even occurred to her. She hadn't had any particular reason to look forward to it. "It seems so soon."

"That's just thirty-six weeks," Brittany told her.

Santana stared at her in amazement. "Did you just do that in your head?"

"I think so," she said, surprised. Looking down at her coffee with raised eyebrows, she added, "Wow. I should drink this stuff more often." She was quiet for a minute, thinking. Then she asked, "But Santana... what _about _those nine months? What are things gonna be like at school this year?"

"I don't know, Brit." She sighed. It was like they were going around in circles. Wasn't this basically the same question _she'd _asked, a few months ago? Would either of them ever know the answer? "I wish I could tell you. But I don't have a crystal ball."

"I have a Magic 8 ball at home," Brittany suggested. "Do you think that would work?"

She smiled. "I kinda doubt it."

"Oh. I think it might be broken anyway. When I asked it about Nationals, it didn't say anything about Finn and Rachel making out on stage."

Knowing it was a stupid thing to say, but unable to resist the impulse, Santana bit her lip a little awkwardly and said, "Did you ever ask it about us?"

But Brittany didn't seem to think it was stupid. "Of course. That was my very first question."

"And?"

"And it said... the outlook is good."

They smiled at each other, and then Santana looked out the window, feeling ridiculously emotional. _Oh Jesus Christ, Lopez, get a grip,_ she told herself. _You're not seriously getting misty over a Magic 8 ball, are you? You have got it so bad._

Peering out toward the van, she said, "Holy crap, I think your dad actually fixed the thing." Gerald had his hands clasped together and was raising them above his head in a victory gesture. Bunny laughed and then pulled his head down for a kiss.

"I don't believe it," Brittany said, looking amused. "This is the first time he's ever fixed anything in his life. He's never gonna shut up about it."

She watched the Pierces with affection for a few more seconds, but then looked away when they started hardcore making out. As Brittany would say, _Gross_.

"Well, guess that's our cue to bounce." Santana pushed her saucer aside and stood up, looking down at Brittany. Then she glanced over at the old couple, who were finishing their meal in judgmental silence, and at the rest of the diner, at the scattering of average, tired-looking middle class people eating their pie and drinking their coffee. Then back at Brittany, who was the most beautiful, the most creative, and without a doubt the kindest and most generous soul in the entire room. She was perfect. She was everything. And Santana was so tired of having to pretend that she didn't love her. So, so tired. _You know what? Screw them._

Without giving herself more than a split second to think it over, she held out her hand. Brittany stared at it, surprised, and then up at her, a question in her eyes. _Are you sure?_

Santana nodded just a tiny bit, still holding out her hand. She breathed in deeply, forcing down her fears. It was never going to get any easier, no matter how long she waited. They had to start somewhere. Why not here?

Brittany took her hand, standing up. She clasped it against her chest for a second, and then dropped it down to her side. They walked toward the front of the restaurant, holding their heads up, trying to ignore the stares. Because there were plenty of stares.

At the register, their waitress came over to ring them up. She glanced at their hands, but seemed indifferent, bored even. Santana felt a surge of gratitude for this boredom, and she had the sudden need to make up for her earlier bitchiness. "Hi, Mindy," she said. "Sorry about before." She glanced at Brittany to see if she appreciated the effort, handing over her credit card.

"Also, while we're here, I'd like to pay for Grandma and Grandpa's meal." She gestured back at the old couple. "Whatever they ordered, just put it on my card." Smiling with exaggerated sweetness, she added, "And could you make sure to tell them that it's from the lesbians who were sitting across from them?"

Mindy raised her eyes from the register, taking in both of them. She gave a wry nod, as if anything that made the day a little more interesting was okay in her book. If nothing else, it would give her an entertaining story to tell the other waitresses in the back. "Will do, ladies."

"What?" Santana asked, noticing the look Brittany was giving her. "You told me I should be nicer. This is me, being nice."

"Except that those old people are gonna totally flip out." Brittany seemed to be trying hard to repress a grin, and not succeeding very well.

"Yeah, well..." Santana shrugged, taking back her credit card and putting it in her pocket with a flourish. "Not my problem."

Smiling at her, she led Brittany toward the door. People were still staring, but she didn't even notice it now. She squeezed her hand hard, using that simple motion to try to say so much. It said _I'm sorry for everything I've put you through._ It said _Please don't give up on me._ More than anything else, it said _I love you._ Brittany squeezed back, lacing their fingers together.

They walked out into the rain and headed across the parking lot, still holding hands. For the rest of the way back to Lima, neither one of them let go.


End file.
